Where A River Seperates The Land
by BarbaraGER
Summary: Set in Season 2. Sam wants back to Stanford so Dean joins a group of hunters to kill Wendigoes. When they go missing in the woods Sam puts his plans on hold to find his brother. But is he prepared for the thing that awaits him?
1. Chapter 1

**Here it is, folks! My first story, yay!**

**As I mentioned in my profile, English is not my first language. My lovely Beta and me have done our best to get rid of spelling mistakes and grammar slips, but if the english speaking nation out there still gets headaches and flickering before the eyes, I deeply apologize. All mistakes are mine.**

**Speaking of "mine", Supernatural and it's characters belong to Master Kripke and the CW. Only the characters in this story you haven't heard of before, they're indeed mine, harhar.**

**And last but not least: my gorgeous Beta Azrael – you know what you mean to me! Thanks for your support and being a pain in the neck! You totally rule!!**

**Okay. Here we go **takes a deep breath****

**Chapter 01**

Getting the head slammed against a window wasn't exactly the favorite kind of awakening for him, but it did the trick.

"Son of a bitch..." Dean moaned as he tried to blink the cobwebs away that were lingering in his mind and in front of his eyes. He straightened, yawning and trying to decide wether he should first rub his bleary eyes or the arising goose egg on the side of his head.

"Look who's with us again! Good mornin', honey! Coffee's ready!" The way too cheery and therefore very annoying voice coming from the drivers seat did nothing to Deans mood as he glared through the windshield of the huge Ford Bronco he was riding shotgun.

"Shut the hell up, Jason, your girly voice is hard to bear without alcohol or caffeine running through my system", Dean murmured and took in the surroundings outside. They had left the paved road and were now jolting down a path of gravel and dirt. It was noon, the Grand Teton National Parc welcomed the men with a sun standing high up in the sky but failing to spend much warmth as autumn was early this year.

Dean closed his eyes again and drew a really deep breath – not that he was really anxious about being surrounded by nature. No, that was one part of this upcoming hunt he would gladly change, the location. He would prefer a cuddly old warehouse or maybe a nice abandoned school in a suburb of a pretty little town where he would at least have the option of a tiny bit of civilization. Starving for a burger? Just fall out of the motel room and enter the diner on the other side of the street. Try your luck on a poker game or a beautiful woman? Just drop into the bar at the corner, enjoying the nightlife with a cool beer in your hand. Instead, this hunt had dragged him right into the pure nature of Wyoming, including the need to drive a couple of hours in any direction before meeting something not based on photosynthesis.

And the need to drive a couple of hours to get back to Sam.

Dean shook his head slightly to shove the memories of the past days he had spent with his little brother back into his mind. He had to focus on this hunt now, the first hunt in about two years without Sam at his side. Now he had to get used to this somehow.

"Hey Dean, you're alright?" Patrick asked from the backseat, looking up from the map and the papers in his lap, his incredible big brown eyes showing a spark of concern as he leaned forward. Dean had to smile on that – Patrick reminded him strongly of Sam; the constant worry, the cautiousness, the accuracy with the research. Compared to the other three hunters on this mission Patrick was still a kid and Dean couldn't help but feel responsible for him. Hell, he wanted to kick the boy's ass right into school again, not wanting him to even know this kind of life.

"Yeah, just a little stiff and sore from sitting in this truck and gettin' tossed around. Could I have a look at your driver's license, Jay? I really admire a good falsification if I see one." Dean smirked at Jason and stretched his limps, slapping him on the shoulder in the same movement.

„That's hilarious, Deano, how could I ever hunt all these years without you being my personal pain-in-the-ass?" Jason laughed before he reduced the speed of the big truck and narrowed his eyes. "I think this is it, we should set up our camp by the riverside, this will be half the battle. Patrick, wake Seth."

"I'm awake...", the crumpled heap beside Patrick mumbled and began to stir. "So, what's the plan again? Out of the truck, slaughter those guys, back into the truck, goodnight, right?" The boredom in Seth's voice was almost visible.

Patrick let out a sigh and glanced down at his papers again. "Don't get too excited, Seth, you might get a heart attack or something. So...uh...as much as we know all hikers went missing near the river, so if we're lucky this turns out to be a quick hunt and we'll be heading home before dawn."

"That's exactly what I said..." muttered Seth and straightened in his seat.

Dean remained silent and gazed through the side window. Home before dawn. Where would that be, his home, now that Sam wasn't a part of his life anymore? Sure, he would head back to the Roadhouse first, along with Jason, Seth and Patrick. Maybe he would join them in another hunt, he truly didn't know if he was prepared to go hunting all alone already. And that scared the crap out of him. To be so doubtful, so vulnerable, so frightened. Dean's home used to be his precious Impala, filled with his little brother, that was all he needed.

The Impala was waiting for him at the Roadhouse. But Sam wasn't.

The Bronco came to a halt near the edge of a cliff. The Snake River beneath had cut deep into the landscape and had meandered canyons into the land – with a pretty girl and a picnic basket at hand the scenery would be downright romantic. The four hunters exiting the vehicle had other plans with the upcoming night.

After a brief look around Dean approached the edge and knelt down, knowing that they hadn't reached their final destination yet. The cliff itself was rather steep, it would be a bitch to climb down, especially carrying the weapons and bags. But there was no way they were able to reach this exact point by the river where all the people had gone missing with the car, so the men were supposed to get as far as they could with their truck and then set off using their feet.

"This is going to be so much fun", Dean muttered to himself and returned to the truck to get his weapons. Jason and Seth had settled a couple of feet away to prepare the flame thrower and some torches, while Patrick, still sitting on the backseat with his legs dangling out of the car, stuffed the papers and maps in his backpack. He was shivering a bit and Dean was sure this had nothing to do with the chilling air.

"You sure you're up for this, kiddo?" Dean asked quietly as he rummaged through his duffle for his knife and gun, his gaze drifting between the bag and the boy on the backseat.

"Sure – why shouldn't I be?" Patrick replied, fumbling with the zipper of the backpack.

"Well, 'cause you're shaking like a leaf, for starters, and the way you're cuddling your daypack." Dean turned his attention to Patrick. "How many times have you been on a hunt?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I'm a curious person, that's why. Come on, spill it."

Patrick let go of his fumbling with the zipper, casting his eyes over the landscape. "I've done plenty of salt'n burns..."

"Oh, really?" Dean interrupted and raised his eyebrows at the young man. Patrick glanced quickly at him and looked down, returning to his zipper-fumbling once more.

"Uh, well...actually I did the research for Seth and Jason and when it came to the real action I had to stay behind, playing the role of the lookout."

"Okay." Dean replied slowly, still scrutinizing Patrick. "And how's it that you're here now? On a hunt like this, chasing three Wendigos? You won a bet or something?"

"I wanted to do something bigger, and when the guys jumped on this hunt I insisted to be a part of it."

Dean let out a sigh, stashed his knife into the sheath, his gun into his waistband and stepped up in front of Patrick, ducking his head so he was at eye level with him. "I want you to listen to me", Dean said softly, "This is no freakin' fishing trip, Patrick. And if you're not up for this it's no shame to stay out of it."

"Thanks Dad", Patrick growled and slid out of the truck, "I'm gonna be fine."

"Just stay close, alright? So I can grab your ears and pull yourself into safety if things go south." Dean called after the young hunter and smiled to himself. Though he was quite uneasy with the lack of experience this kid offered, he was glad it was him to keep an eye on Patrick during his first real nasty hunt. Being a big brother was a job he wasn't able to shake off so fast, even if there wasn't a little brother anymore within his reach.

He threw his duffel over his shoulder and slammed the passenger door shut before he joined Patrick, Jason and Seth, who were all three hunched up over a flamethrower lying on the ground. Dean couldn't help but chuckle over the rather antique weapon at his feet.

"Alright – done", Seth panted as he got up, sweating from his efforts to get the weapon ready for action.

"So, what do you say, Winchester? Isn't she lovely?" Jason said, his voice thick with pride.

"Well, is this thing delivered with the grandpa who's old enough to know how to handle it?" Dean answered, still wondering if this was a joke or not. "Where did you get it from, did you knock out a second world war veteran?"

"I'm the grandpa, jerk, and you'll be glad we have her as soon as I broil our friends", Jason stated as he patted the tank of the flamethrower. "We have four torches and this baby here, so along with guns and knifes this should do it. Now ladies, I suggest we get our stuff and get the party started!"

He got up and marched to the truck while Patrick joined Dean with the head-shaking over the murderous device at his feet. "He's really obsessed with this thing. I'm just glad I don't have to carry it", Patrick whispered, nudging Dean's arm with a broad smile.

"Yeah, well, you can't choose where Cupid's arrow..."

A piercing shriek cut Dean's words and the two men spun around. They caught Seth's and Jason's gazes, who were as startled as Dean and Patrick.

The screech seemed to be far away, yet it was loud and screaming enough to be able to cause the mother of all headaches. It sounded like the cry of a hawk mixed with what felt like a low rolling thunder and strange voices coming from different directions. The voices were whispering, screaming, pleading, crying – for help, for salvation, for escape. And they were getting louder and clearer with each passing second.

Dean threw his hands up to cover his ears, the horrible shriek stinging his brain like thousands of needles, the voices sending a cold shiver down his spine, bringing him down to his knees. The sound was paralyzing, leaving him unable to move or react.

"What...the...hell!" Dean groaned, his fingertips digging as deep into his skull as possible, his forehead landing on the dusty ground.

Suddenly the shriek hushed and Dean felt he could move again. He sat up, shook his head and looked around for Patrick, Jason and Seth.

"Everyone okay?" he shouted and was met with the sight of the other three hunters lying or kneeling on the ground as well, groaning and holding their heads. Dean quickly stood and looked around, trying to find the source of the brain-smashing sound.

"Holy crap. What was that?" Seth asked as he changed his position from being sprawled in the dirt up to his hands and knees.

It was then when they heard it – a wing beat, much like that of a bird, but this beat seemed to belong to something larger. First nearly inaudible, it's volume increased at an alarming rate and as Dean turned he saw something in the air, heading directly to their position. Recognizing their disastrous situation of being in a fishbowl he pulled his gun out of his waistband and grabbed Patrick's arm, yanking him to his feet.

"We have to get away from here, go go! Go!" Dean hollered, dragging the young hunter towards the truck. Jason and Seth were on their feet in seconds, running to the Bronco as well, when the shriek resounded again, this time louder and, if it was even possible, more painful as before. The four hunters were again forced to the ground, unable to continue their escape.

Jason started screaming. His anguished cries echoed through the air, mixing with the damned sounds coming from whatever kind of evil attacking the men. As Dean opened his eyes and peered towards Jason's position it took his breath away.

Hunkering over the screaming and struggling hunter lying in the dirt was an awfully big bird-like creature. It looked like an oversized vulture, about 9 feet tall, it's giant wings flapping onto the ground, raising dust and gravel. It's long and hooked open beak was mere inches away of Jason's throat, one of the huge sharp talons was almost completely burrowed in Jason's chest, leaving a puddle of blood to where he lay, the white grayish plumage of the bird already stained with crimson.

"Nonononono...Jason...No!" Patrick yelled, who too had managed to get a glimpse of the gruesome spectacle in front of him, but was as unable to help.

The vulture-like creature raised it's head and turned it towards Patrick. The red eyes which fell on him looked as they were on fire, glowing, ungracious, it's glance like lightning. "Jesus Christ", Patrick whispered as he stared into the burning, yet cold eyes of the creature.

As it closed it's beak, the paralyzing sound stopped again and Dean quickly acted on instinct. He jumped to his feet, raised his arm, pointed his .45 directly at the bald head of the bird and shot, fully intending to empty the whole clip into the feathered nightmare. Patrick joined him with a cry of pure rage, sending bullet after bullet into the creature's body. Seth knelt beside the truck with and sent shotgun rounds into the bird, snarling in an rather inhuman way.

The impact of the rounds brought the bird to jerk and let it take a few steps back. It croaked angrily, but to the hunters' horror it seemed rather unimpressed by the human assault. It stood up to it's full height and flapped it's monstrous wings, glaring down at the two men. Before Dean had a chance to duck down one of the wings knocked him off his feet, sending him hard on his back, his head hitting the dry ground. Through his blurry vision he saw the bird approaching, bouncing clumsily in his direction on it's thick ugly legs.

"Dean! Get up! Move!" Patrick called while he hastily reloaded his gun, cursing when first the bullets, than the magazine fell out of his shaking hands. "Dammit! Calm down, CALM DOWN!"

The second Dean's vision cleared he saw the bird standing above him. A cry of pain escaped his lips as it pinned him to ground, one of it's talons digging into his left shoulder. With his teeth clenched he felt for his knife, turning his head away from the creature which was now lurking above him face to face, as if it was reading his facial features.

For a tiny moment, the bird went still. An almost enchanted noise escaped from it, and if Dean wouldn't know it better he could have sworn that this thing was mesmerized by something about or on him.

Using the distraction, Dean raised his knife. "Get...off me...you...mite cab...!" he spat and drove it right into the bird's calf, forcing it to croak again and stumble off him. The instant he was free from the impaling talon he rolled away as quickly as possible, pressing his hand to his shoulder.

In his attempt to escape he forgot the cliff's edge completely.

As Dean rolled over the edge he heard Patrick yell. His name? Or was he calling for help? Wondering if that stunt he just had pulled off had been smart while thudding over rocks and undergrowth his world went dark.

* * *

Sam stared down at his empty beer bottle, not quite seeing it, turning it between his fingers.

"Can I get you another one? Let's say, as a farewell present?" Ellen asked, throwing a dish cloth over her shoulder and propping herself on the sink.

Sam looked up and smiled. "Thanks Ellen, but I think I had enough farewell presents tonight." He looked over his shoulder and glanced at the few guests housing the Roadhouse to this evening hour. It was nearly 7 pm and except for Sam there were just two bulky men occupying the pool table and a lonesome guy at a table in the corner, studying a map.

He returned his gaze to his beer bottle and sighed. It had been a couple of hours since he and Dean had said their goodbyes to each other. They had put up a good fight, both of them, no heavy sadness or tears from Sam, no angry, sullen words from Dean, just two grown-up men with the usual "See ya around!"-attitudes. But now Sam couldn't deny his heartache, as if something had broken away from him. And although it had been his decision, right now he wondered if it had been the right one.

"Anything else I can do to cheer you up a bit?" Ellen tried again, pulling Sam out of his absent-mindedness. "When is your bus going to depart anyway?"

"Uh...in about an hour", Sam replied, glancing at his watch. The bus station wasn't far, he would be able to walk the short distance. And this little walk would be the beginning to help him cope with a heavy, painful task – to close his personal chapter of hunting. Again. And this time, hopefully, forever.

Ellen nodded towards a backpack and a duffle bag resting on the floor, "And this is your luggage? Not much for a guy who tries to make a restart of his life."

"Yeah. My whole life fits in a duffle and a backpack – it would be funny if it weren't so sad, don't you think?" Sam snorted and ran a hand through his hear.

"Seriously, Sam – are you alright? Are you sure about this? I mean, it's none of my business, really, but..."

"I'm sure, I really am, Ellen, I brood over this for quite some time now and...it's what I want. And Dean...he'll get over it. See, he's already on the road again, hunting down some Wendigos with a couple of guys he barely knows. He won't miss me much."

"Well, if I wouldn't knew you better I'd say you're jealous", Ellen teased and poured some Whiskey into two shot glasses. "One more farewell present won't do any harm. Cheers!"

"I'm not jealous", Sam protested as he grabbed the shot glass and downed the drink. "And now I better hit the road before you get me drunk."

Sam slid off the bar stool and put his jacket on before he stepped up to the woman he had taken to his heart in this short amount of time since his Dad's death and hugged her.

"Thank you, for everything", he whispered in her hair, "And keep an eye on my big pain-in-the-ass brother from time to time, would you?"

"I will, Sam, I promise. And you take care of yourself. Keep in touch, you hear me? Don't be a stranger and give me a call once in a while, or I might visit sunny California and kick your butt!"

They loosened their embrace and Sam grabbed his stuff, ready to leave. On his way to the door he turned and grinned, "I think I'm going to send you a nice little postcard with an image of the ocean and the message ‚This is where I'm working!' on it."

"Get the hell out, Sam Winchester!" Ellen laughed, threatening Sam with her dish cloth.

Before Sam could reach the door they heard someone yelling outside, followed by the sounds of someone stumbling onto the porch. As the door flew open a guy stood in the doorway, panting, sweating, clearly out of it. Dirt covered his face and clothes, his hair was disheveled. He took an unsteady step inside and stopped, leaning heavily against the door jamb.

"Help! I...I...help..." he breathed as he took another step forward.

Sam dropped his stuff and caught the exhausted man as his knees buckled and he was about to fall flat on his face. The guy from the corner who had spent his evening with a map was beside Sam in seconds and helped carrying the shaking bundle towards the bar.

The two men at the pool table had stopped their game and watched the scene with their mouths agape before Ellen ushered them out of the Roadhouse, "Okay, closing time, guys, thanks for coming and please grace us with you presence again!"

Sam and the map-guy helped the troubled man to sit on the floor up against the bar. He was still shuddering and gasping for air.

„Easy there, we've gotcha", Sam soothed and tried to catch the man's eyes with his. Suddenly it hit him. He knew this guy. This was one of the hunters Dean had joined for this Wendigo hunt – there had been three of them, him, a guy Dean's age and a younger kid with long hair.

Sam's mouth went desert dry.

* * *

**To be continued ...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Dearest readers, the next chappy for you. Not too much rambling from me here, just one thing: Enjoy!**

**Chapter 02**

_Two days earlier ..._

The silence was annoying. Nothing except the low rumble of the Impala's engine and the sound of her tires on the asphalt which Sam knew he was going to miss. But in this very moment it was just nerve-wracking. Hell, even the radio was switched off – what would Sam give to hear some of Dean's music blaring out of the speakers right now, overstretching his eardrums, just to get rid of this persistent silence.

Sam glanced at his brother, then out of the window, and again at his brother. Dean stared – no, understatement of the year – he glowered at the road in front of him, driving his car with his teeth clenched, jaw hardened, having ‚Don't even think about opening your mouth' written on his forehead in big fat letters, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. Sam decided to try anyway.

"Hey...uh...you hungry?" he asked with the most tentative voice he could come up with. "Maybe we could look out for a diner or something. At the Roadhouse we'll only get liquid food, you know."

"Works for me", Dean replied, his voice flat and as low as the noise coming from the Impala, his gaze glued to the road.

"Well, it doesn't work for me, so if you'd just consider to stop the car at the next diner or bar or whatsoever, I'd really appreciate it", Sam spat and turned again towards the passenger side window, pouting at the passing landscape.

"Fine", Dean mumbled, still no change in his expression or tone.

"Fine!" Sam repeated before he turned again, this time towards his brother. "What's the matter with you, Dean? I mean, I thought we'd sorted this out, I thought you'd understand and now you're sitting there with a face like you've been sucking a lemon, ignoring me and behaving like a sullen brat..."

"Shut up, Sam." Still the low and way too calm voice.

"No, I won't shut up. I want to talk about this."

"Sam. Leave it."

"I want you to be okay with my decision..."

"Well, I'm not okay with your decision!" Now that was loud enough to make Sam's teeth rattle.

And here they were again, at the same point they've been a couple of days ago when Sam had announced his decision to quit hunting. He had thought about it quite some time, it had actually started with his Dad's death. And with nearly losing Dean after that accident with the Semi. After all, it had always been his Dad's crusade, Project: Seek and Destroy the Demon, his Dad's seek for revenge that had forced the three of them to live this life. Now with Dad gone, why did it have to continue this way? Sam had already managed to leave all this behind as he went to Stanford, he could do it again. And this time he wanted Dean to come with him.

Sam didn't know if he would be able to live a normal life being aware of his big brother hunting out there on his own. He had been worried often enough while he'd sat over his law books knowing that his brother could be hurt or worse while his Dad dragged him from one hunt to another. The thought of Dean doing this job alone made him feel downright queasy.

Besides, Sam wanted to have a normal life for his brother as well. A nice pretty girlfriend, a cosy home without four wheels, a regular 9 to 5 job.

After Sam's announcement, Dean had, as expected, gone through all possible emotions, from being shocked over to furiousness to the point of sadness. The last days he'd displayed a mixture of anger and defiance, but he had at least given up to change Sam's mind. And, like Sam had secretly known all the time, he'd simply objected to come and join him.

A pondering silence had once again settled in between the brothers and Sam felt like he'd just fallen back to square one.

"Dean..."

"Listen Sam, I'm sick and tired of this, okay? You wanna go, then go, here, I can drive you right to the next airport if you want, but please stop going all Dr. Phil on me and quit trying to convince me of anything."

"I'm not...damnit...". It was getting harder and harder for Sam to stay calm. With an angry sigh he ran his hands through his hair. "Just...why can't you even think about quitting this, about coming with me? Is it such a great feeling to wake up in a different motel room every day, to risk your life every day, just tell me, why is this crappy life so important for you?"

"Because, for starters, this is what I'm good at, Sam", Dean bellowed, his eyes leaving the street for a few seconds to glare at his little brother. "I can't just quit something I did my whole damn life."

"That's bullshit and you know that! There are plenty of other things you're good at..."

Sam tried to fight back his tears, not for the first time during the last days. Tears, partly of desperation, partly because he was pissed at Dean for his low opinion of himself.

"I'm just...I want you to be safe, for God's sake. And in case I repeat myself, I want you to come with me, to start again, to have another life. Hell, to have a life at all. Now with Dad gone and...I..."

"Leave it, Sam. As I told you before I accept your decision though I'm not okay with it. I accept that this life isn't yours, never had been." And suddenly the booming voice, the anger was gone, replaced by defeat and sadness. Dean cleared his throat as his voice started to break. "I don't want to talk about it again, alright? We're heading to the Roadhouse, I'll take a look at Ellen's new case and you can do whatever you want from there. End of conversation."

With that he turned the radio on and continued his stare to the road. Sam just nodded, pressing his lips together, and glared out of the side window once again. So, that was it then. He wouldn't get onto this subject again, he had tried for days and everything he got was another fight. If this was what Dean wanted, the way he wanted it, Sam would accept it, too.

* * *

Ellen had sensed the tension between the two Winchesters the second they had entered the Roadhouse. As she had greeted them and had given each one a bear hug, it had felt almost palpable. She had decided not to mention it until the boys had settled in a bit. However, after a bit of small talk Dean had joined a few guys in their pool game, visibly uneasy about being too near to his younger brother. It was then when she had been able to talk to Sam and get to the bottom of things.

Now, an hour later, she watched the two brothers with a sad expression. Sam sat at the bar with the laptop, surfing the internet, while Dean hustled the poor kids at the pool table. Of course, she liked the idea of Sam having a life of his own, without the danger. She knew first hand what this job could cost you. And he deserved some normalcy like anyone else. But with Dean being firm with his decision to keep on hunting, Ellen didn't know what to say. She understood both of them. But she also knew that the decisions both boys had made, meant that their ways would separate and possibly never reunite again.

Engrossed in her thoughts Ellen startled as one of the kids started to rant and threw his cue in the corner. Dean just smirked, parked his own cue against the table and approached the bar with an impressive amount of banknotes in his hand.

"Ellen, you should really train them better, I guess I won their complete college fund", he said with a challenging side glance and settled down on a barstool next to Sam, who watched the kids stomping out of the Roadhouse, leaving the Winchesters and Ellen the only people in the room.

"Maybe I should just install some kind of alarm system which goes off when you enter the room and warns my poor guests of being hustled", she laughed and put a beer in front of Dean. He took a swig from the bottle and went serious.

"So, this case you mentioned", he began, turning the bottle in his hands. "Tell me about it."

Ellen pulled a folder from a drawer and handed it to Dean. "A couple of hikers went missing at the Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming during the last months, some had been found awfully mutilated, others have just vanished without a trace. The park authorities think it's a grizzly or a wolf but the way I see it ...", she pulled some photographs out of the folder and spread them out in front of Dean "...this doesn't look like a bear's work."

Dean wrinkled his nose as he took a closer look to the images. One showed a woman, maybe in her forties, with nasty claw marks across her whole body. On another picture a person laid sprawled out on what looked like a riverbank – only God knew if it had been a man or a woman once. The complete absence of the victim's face brought Dean's stomach to churn.

"Gah, that's just gross", he gasped, shoving the pictures aside.

Sam's reaction mirrored Dean's as he too had a brief look at the photos. "So, what do you think it is?"

"I've talked to some guys, a small group of hunters stopping by now and then, they're thinking it could be some Wendigoes."

"Wendigoes? Plural?" Sam asked.

"Yep, maybe two or three. See, even the supernatural has it's evolution."

"Freakin' great, those guys are evil enough as singles, now they're already available as family size package", Dean muttered and took another swig.

"However, these three are gearing up for this hunt and were asking me if maybe I knew some other experienced hunters who'd like to join them, as the more hunters the safer and quicker this job could be done. So, I thought about you two..." Ellen stopped, glancing at the brothers, "...well, I thought you two could join them, but now..."

"What?" Dean looked up, his face showing a slight expression of anger. "Now I am useless without my little brother holding my hand or what?"

"I didn't mean that, Dean..."

"Well, that was exactly what it sounded like!" The expression of anger had now turned into a fully-grown burst of temper, including a loud, angry voice.

"Dean, would you calm down", Sam hissed, grabbing his brother's arm. He was rewarded with a scowl before Dean forcefully pulled his arm away.

"You shut your pie hole, Sam, my actions are none of your business anymore."

"Dammit Dean, stop being such a stubborn ass..."

"Boys!" Now it was Ellen's turn to scowl as she slammed one of her fists onto the bar, choking off the fight arising. "Dean, I really trust you with this, it's just I'm worried about you guys being outnumbered, you'd be a group of four hunters against three of those creatures."

The brothers went silent, Sam noisily closing the laptop and scratching at an imaginary stain on the lid while Dean picked thoughtfully at the label of his bottle.

Ellen sighed and looked at Dean. "Okay, you know what, I call Jason and ask him to drop in tomorrow. You guys can have a little chat and get to know each other, see if you get along."

"Thanks, Ellen", Dean said, still picking at the label, not daring to look up. She just nodded.

The three of them remained silent, until Sam pushed away from his barstool, grabbing his laptop, jacket and duffel. "I think I call it a day."

"Sure, honey, I've arranged the spare room on the left for you two, you know the way."

"Yeah, thanks, goodnight Ellen." With that, Sam glared at Dean once more before he stomped past him towards the back of the bar, slamming the door of the spare room shut behind him. Dean just shook his head slightly and raked both hands through his short hair, letting them rest at the nape of his neck, gazing at the worn out wooden surface of the counter.

"I'm sorry", he mumbled, "this...it's not your fault and I shouldn't vent my wrath on you."

"How long's this going on with you two, huh?"

"Too long", Dean answered, releasing the grip on his neck and looking wearily in the woman's eyes. "Hell, I knew this would come one day, I knew he wouldn't hunt forever and I fucking knew I wouldn't handle the situation very well."

He wasn't sure why he was opening up to Ellen right now, when everything he wanted so badly was to knock himself out with a couple of beers and maybe even a couple more shots. But he had to admit that it felt good to talk about the things that went on.

Ellen leaned forward, grabbing Dean's forearms and squeezing them gently with both hands. "I know it's hard. But you have to let him go, Dean. I won't ask why you refuse to go with him, I know you have your reasons, but don't try to stop Sam."

"I know that. I can't stop him and I won't", the young Winchester whispered, "I couldn't stop him the first time, and I can't do it now."

With that he averted his eyes and leaned back a bit, signaling that he was done with the talking for now. Ellen understood and let go of Dean, eyeing him. "You should get some rest, too. If you really consider to hunt those evil sons of bitches you should be fit for service."

He nodded his head before he slid off the stool and threw his own duffle bag over his shoulder, wordlessly heading towards the room his brother had stormed in earlier.

* * *

The experiment of combining Dean Winchester with Jason Franks, Seth Erway and Patrick Myers turned out to be quite a success. After the usual exchange of courtesies the men went straight to business and were having a great time with it. They had spent half of the day talking, wandering down memory-lane by telling their stories, debating about their weaponry and ammo, discussing the baddest creatures they've met.

Jason Franks, only two years older than Dean, had learned about the supernatural from his grandfather, who had been hunting his whole life. At the age of fifteen Jason had a rather unpleasant encounter with a water spirit, an encounter which had almost cost him his life hadn't it been for his good old grandpa. After the incident the teenager had been persistent in coming to know everything his grandfather knew.

At the age of 23, he'd met Patrick Myers – or rather found him. One day in December, a couple of days past christmas Jason had passed an abandoned car parking awkwardly on the shoulder of the road. As he'd advanced the fairly new sedan he'd spotted the kid curled up on the back seat, big brown terrified eyes staring at him, begging him not to hurt him. Jason had cradled the violently shaking child in his arms, had tried to soothe him with all his might, not letting the boy catch a glimpse of the gory mess in the front. Whatever had happened to Patrick's parents, no one had ever been able to find out; the boy had refused to talk about it to this day. But the claw marks that had decorated the upholstery and the residues of fur all over the place had been evidence enough for the experienced hunter in Jason to classify these traces.

Since it had turned out that the existing handful of family members left had no intensions of taking care of Patrick and Jason didn't want him to grow up in some children's home, he'd simply decided to take the boy with him. He had raised and taught him and had become the closest to a father for the boy.

Seth Erway, being in his early thirties and therefore being the oldest, had joined the duo about a couple of months ago. He had been a loner all his life and had stayed one since he'd started hunting. However, as he had realized that the the extinction of a vampire's nest required more than just one person, he had joined Jason and Patrick to finish the job. Discovering that having a little company wasn't the worst Seth had decided to stick with the two for some time.

"After hearing of this little mangling problem in Wyoming we did a little research and: Bingo! This is definitely a job for us!" Jason cheered, raising his beer bottle and eyebrows at the same time before taking a sip. Dean, Patrick, Seth and Jason had settled themselves at a table in a very crowded Roadhouse two hours ago, papers and maps outspread in front of them, preparing themselves mentally for the upcoming hunt.

"What makes you so sure that it's a group of Wendigoes?" Dean asked, studying the notes, "For all I know a Wendigo carries it's prey off, stuffs it in it's pantry and feeds off it whenever it's hungry. I've never heard of one of them slicing up a prey and leave it in the woods."

"Yeah, well, I haven't heard of Wendigoes stalking their prey in groups either", Seth answered, leaning backwards into his chair.

"We think it might be a new species, kind of a social evolution", Patrick interjected, his voice showing a nearly breathless excitement as he hastily searched through the papers. "Some park visitors had reported that they had heard weird noises, they'd described them as screeches or some rolling thunder, maybe both..."

"Pat, calm down", Jason chuckled, leaning forward and pulled playfully at Patrick's ponytail. One day he'll cut the damn thing off, when Patrick would be asleep and wouldn't be a threat to him. God he hated the way too long mane on his charge's head – Jason wasn't a conservative person and he had no problem with a guy having long hair, but was was the point in having long hair if you'd tie it back everyday?

"Stop it, Jay", Patrick responded quite edgy, shrugging Jason's hands away, his eyes never leaving the papers. Jason leaned back, his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender, and Dean had to smile. If he'd close his eyes and would just listen to these two he could almost see Sam and himself merged in brotherly banter. His smile fading he turned around on his chair and searched the room. Sam sat at the bar, hunched up over his laptop, again.

Damn, would he miss that sight.

Dean turned his attention back to the three men at the table, "When are we going to sally out?"

"I'd say tomorrow morning, it'll take us a couple of hours to get to the National Park. The sooner we set off the sooner we'll be back. Six o'clock, this place?" Jason replied.

Dean nodded and stood up, grabbing his beer bottle. "Six o'clock, I'll be here." He briefly raised his bottle to the three and turned, approaching his sibling at the bar.

He took a seat next to Sam, "Hey."

Sam flashed him a brief glance, "Hey yourself", before he consecrated himself to the laptop again.

Dean let out a sigh and rolled the bottle between his hands. That was just great. The last 24 hours the two of them had been busy ignoring each other, Dean being involved in the preparations for the new hunt and Sam being involved in the preparations for his new life. He knew that this was probably the last evening they had together for a long time, maybe the last evening together ever, and the hell he would spend it the way they had spent the previous days; avoiding eye contact, avoiding talking to each other. He just didn't want to part with Sam like this.

"What...um...what are you checking up?"

The brief glance again from Sam, "Uh...some apartments. I can stay with old friends of mine for the first days but I'd like to get my own residence as quickly as possible."

"Yeah", Dean smiled sheepishly, his eyes never leaving the bottle. God, he was behaving like being on his first date. "And? Found anything snugly?"

"Yes...yes, actually I did..." Sam turned the laptop so Dean could have a look at the website which showed a bright, small but cosy apartment, fully furnished. Apart from the wallpaper, which was covered with yellow roses, it seemed to be a really nice place.

"Promise me something, Sam", Dean started, his eyes locking with Sam's. "If you want me to visit you from time to time, please do some repaper."

Sam began to snicker and suddenly, finally, the tension between the two brothers seemed to relieve a little bit.

"I promise", Sam swore solemnly and pushed the computer aside, taking his beer bottle in his two hands, unknowingly mirroring Dean's pose. He looked up, "So, you guys are going on this hunt in Wyoming?"

"That Wendigo family reunion, you mean? Yeah, we'll set off tomorrow morning."

Sam nodded, looking at his bottle again.

"What about you, huh? When are you going to hit the road?" Dean asked.

"Tomorrow, I think. There's a greyhound bus that departs from the bus station every evening at about 8."

Now it was Dean's turn to nod and with that, the two brothers relapsed into silence again, every one of them gazing into space, holding tight to their beer bottles. Suddenly Dean turned towards his brother and raised his bottle.

"To us, Sammy. We've been a great team."

Sam swallowed and pressed his lips together as he reluctantly raised his bottle as well. "Yeah. To us, bro."

They emptied their beers and averted their gazes, both Winchesters busy to get rid of the lumps in their throats.

* * *

"What's in here?" Dean asked, suspiciously eyeing a large black box at his feet, which was obviously waiting to be stowed away in Jason's red Ford Bronco.

"Thats Jay's secret weapon!" Patrick shouted. He was leaning against the big truck and stuffed all sorts of notes into his daypack while Seth and Jason were busy loading their weapons into the trunk. "You'll see. It's very...well, it's special!"

"Yeah, whatever." Dean shrugged and walked over to his Impala, which was waiting patiently were Dean had parked her, and opened the trunk. He repacked his duffel bag, exchanging things he wouldn't need on this hunt for things he thought might come handy. He had already checked his weapons last night, followed by Sam's eyes. It seemed like Sam had enjoyed watching his big brother clean and load the weapons, just like he'd wanted to absorb the experienced action, fully aware that he wouldn't witness it anymore for a long time.

It felt good that the two of them had finally managed to make peace.

"What about coffee, boys?" It was Ellen's voice that brought Dean back to reality. She was standing at the entrance of Harvelle's Roadhouse, holding a tray with five mugs which hopefully contained the strongest and blackest a coffee someone could wish for.

"Oh god, yes!" Dean breathed a sigh of relief and shut the lid of the trunk. He went to the Bronco, threw his bag inside and approached Ellen. As he reached her she handed him one of the mugs, took one herself and put the tray on the small wooden table beside her.

"So, you four are leaving?" she asked, nodding towards the other three hunters bustling around the truck.

"Yep, we're almost gone", Dean answered.

"What about Sam? He still asleep?"

"He is, I didn't want to wake him up. Besides, you know me, I'm not quite a fan of sentiments."

"He won't like that, I can tell you. He would want to say a proper goodbye..."

Jason stepped up onto the porch and delivered a smacking kiss on Ellen's cheek, leaving her blushing and grabbed a cup of coffee for himself. "Ellen, you're an angel, but I guess you know that?" he cheered before he took a sip of the hot liquid. "Hmm, this one saves my day!" He shook his head with gusto and sauntered back to complete his mission of packing the truck.

Dean turned to Ellen and flashed her a grin which never reached his eyes. He knew Ellen was right and Sam would like to bid farewell but Dean wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep his walls firm in place. Oh yeah, Sam would be mad at him for leaving like this but he could live with that.

"Just make sure the boy eats something before he hits the road tonight", Dean said, "It would be a real shame if his fellow travelers would throw his skinny ass out of the bus cause his bones clap like castanets."

"I do. Cross my heart!" Ellen laughed, holding her hand up. She glanced again to the goings at the truck and went serious. "And make sure you come back in one piece. Those guys over there are good, but it won't do any harm to be careful. All of you."

"You know me, Ellen..."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about."

They were interrupted by Seth and Patrick, who joined them on the porch to snatch their share of mugs, mumbling words of delight due to the hot liquid. Dean watched them, sipping his own coffee. He sized Patrick up and couldn't help but wonder if it came handy to have such a mop of hair. Sure the kid hadn't experienced many hunts involving huge amounts of blood and dirt – all in all things that were a bitch to get off your clothes and skin, let alone out of your hair. His young features showed all kinds of emotions concerning the forthcoming hunt: excitement, tension, delight. The way he kneaded his cup with both hands betrayed his nervousness.

Seth however provided another sight. He leaned against the pillar of the porch, his legs crossed, one hand in the pocket of his cargo pants, the other holding the mug at waist level. He gave the impression of a guy waiting for a lift to a baseball game.

"Ready when you are", Jason stated as he stepped up to the coffee-drinking-community and put his emptied cup back onto the tray. "I suggest we drive one or two hours and take a break between here and our destination, indulge us with a proper lunch."

The others agreed and finished their liquid breakfast quickly. Jason gave Ellen a smile and thanked her for the coffee once more before he turned and jumped on the drivers seat of the truck, followed by Seth and Patrick. Ellen patted Dean's shoulder.

"As I already mentioned, be careful."

Dean winked at her and smirked, "Make sure there'll be some beers in the fridge when I come back." He turned and headed towards the waiting Bronco, it's engine already purring. As he grasped the handle and opened the passenger's side door, his movements were inhibited by the only voice that was able to always get his attention, no matter what.

"Dean?"

The elder Winchester stopped dead in his tracks. Alright, here we go. As he turned around, he couldn't help but smile sadly at the sight that greeted him.

Sam stood beside Ellen, barefoot, dressed in jeans and t-shirt, his hair tousled in all directions. Dean immediately saw the four year old Sammy before his eyes, looking like that every time when he had gotten out of bed too fast. He guessed that Sam would still look like this after getting up when he'd be ninety, minus the "fast".

"Why didn't you wake me?" Sam demanded, his brows furrowed, his facial expression something between incomprehension and sadness. He stepped off the porch and took a couple of strides, not caring that he had no shoes on, before he came to a halt in front of his older sibling. Then his expression softened and Dean was met with a mournful smile. "Ah, I know – my brother doesn't do goodbyes, right?"

"Yeah, well...", Dean replied, suddenly finding it hard to look Sam in the eyes, shuffling his feet through the gravel of the Roadhouse parking lot, "Seems like I won't get around it now, huh?"

"Looks like it." The way Sam tried to avoid his brothers eyes as well was almost fun to watch. The two of them looked like little children, maybe four or five years old, a little boy offering a little girl a flower, but with the little girl too shy to take it. They were interrupted by Jason who gently cleared his throat. Dean gave him a brief look before he straightened and turned towards Sam again.

"Alright, I gotta go now. Take care of yourself, Sammy, and don't forget to call when you're settled, okay?"

Sam nodded and tried to plaster a grin on his face but failing miserably, his expression crumpling into a sad grimace, his eyes glistening with tears. "First thing I'm going to do is to buy a nice wallpaper", he said, his voice thick and nearly breaking, betraying him. He pulled his upper lip in and looked past Dean in order to get his composure.

Dean took a breath, murmured a "Screw this..." and grabbed Sam at the back of his neck, pulled him close into a tight embrace. They weren't the kind of brothers always hugging and cuddling, girly stuff like this just wasn't the Winchester way, never had been. But Dean didn't care. At this moment it felt right and he was surprised and at the same time relieved when he felt Sam hug him back. He gave his little brother one last reassuring squeeze before he let go, fighting against his own tears and smiled, unable to find the right words.

"You be careful, too, Dean."

"Always, Sammy!" With that, Dean turned and climbed into the truck. He slammed the door shut and watched Sam through the side window. As the red Ford Bronco slowly started to move, he raised his arm and laid his open hand on the glass as a motionless wave farewell, still smiling at Sam, who looked after them, mirroring his big brother's gesture.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi y'all. Next chapter for you.**

**So, this was the appetizer. I'm going to post weekly from now on, every Sunday our Monday, I guess. So you guys have something to look forward to **grins****

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 03**

"Ma'am, could you pass us some water, please?" the map-guy asked, looking around for Ellen before he turned to Sam. "By the way, my name's Hel." He stretched out his hand to Sam with a friendly smile.

Sam stared at the offered hand and constrained himself to not throw his manners out of the window. "I'm...Sam", he answered and shook Hel's hand firm and quick before he consecrated himself again to the man in front of him. He resisted the urge to shake him, he needed to know what had happened. Now.

"S...Sam...I'm...I'm sorry...I...", the distraught guy stammered and Sam's worry went right through the roof.

So not good.

"Hey, shhhh, calm down, you have to calm down", Sam said, not sure who he tried to comfort here. The bad feeling in his gut was spreading. "Can you tell me what happened? Seth, it's Seth, that's your name, right?"

"I...it was awful...there was this thing and...and it just slashed them up...", Seth whispered, his unfocused eyes wide with fear, his head shaking in denial.

Sam swallowed hard and clenched his jaw as he looked up to Ellen who stood behind Hel – the fear etched in her face showing exactly what Sam was thinking.

"Seth, tell me, where are they? Where are the others?" Sam demanded, his voice low and calm, leaning closer to Seth.

Suddenly Seth grabbed Sam's collar and pulled him down, looking him deep in the eyes.

"Dead. They're all dead."

Sam's entire world crashed down on him and he struggled free from Seth's grip on his collar, falling back on his butt in the process. His eyes wide with horror he just sat there, dumbstruck and shaking, his eyes staring into nothingness.

Beside him, Ellen had stopped breathing. She felt like someone had kicked her right in her guts. She couldn't believe her ears, didn't want to believe that things had gone south like this so fast. Didn't want to believe that the men she had send on this hunt were dead. That Dean was dead.

Shivering inside, she tried to get a grip on herself – knowing, that what was a pain for her must be agony for Sam.

"Sam?" She crouched down to him, one hand cupping his face, ducking her head to search his gaze, "Sam?"

As he looked up, he was finally able to focus on his surroundings again. He stared wide-eyed into Ellen's face before his gaze went past her into space. He ran both hands through his hair and shook his head. "No", he whispered, his voice trembling, "Nonono...that can't...I don't believe this...he's too good to just get...no..."

Hel, who wasn't sure what all this meant, but knew it couldn't be good, tried to get the attention of the injured man in front of him. "Seth, you have to talk to us, you need to tell us what exactly happened out there, understood?" He was rewarded with an absent-minded nod from Seth, who had fixed his gaze on Sam.

"Good, so, you mentioned a thing, what thing? What was it?" Hel turned to Ellen and Sam who were both watching the interrogation in silence, both with expressions of sheer terror on their faces. "What were those guys hunting?" he whispered to them, trying to fill the gaps of his knowledge.

"Wendigoes", Ellen answered, "Two, maybe three."

Hel nodded and caught Seth's eyes again. "Did those Wendigoes attack you?"

Seth shook his head in denial and stared right through Hel. "We've just arrived at the vantage point, near the river and...and we were getting the weapons ready when we heard this...this sound...it's still screaming in my head, goddamnit!" Both his hands flew to his temples and he pressed down on them with his palms, shaking his head. "It...we couldn't move anymore and as I managed to look up there was this bird. Some kind of vulture, it was huge and it..." He swallowed and looked down before he continued in a whisper "...it killed Jason...hell, it gutted him alive."

Hel pulled his head back slightly and watched the man in front of him intently. Some kind of vulture. He narrowed his eyes and let them drift past Seth, thinking. After a few moments of silence he encouraged the distraught hunter to go on. "What happened then? What about the others?"

"When it was occupied with Jason we were able to move again and Dean and Patrick tried to shoot the creature...shit, they put their whole clips into the bird but it didn't so much as flinch. It...it attacked Dean. I heard him scream and then I heard Patrick...he was screaming, too and I couldn't see them from my position. It flew away, I guess...it just took off and flew away..."

"Where have you been? Why didn't the bird attack you?" Hel asked in a calm voice.

"I...", Seth caughed uncomfortably, "I did manage to crouch under the truck. It couldn't see me..."

"And it didn't cross your mind to fuckin' get up and do something? Help them?" Now it was Sam's turn to reach for a collar. He rushed to his knees and harshly grasped Seth's jacket, making him cry out in surprise. "You laid under that damn car and watched them getting killed?" he spat, "Watched as my brother got killed?" Sam bellowed the last part at the squirming man and Hel was sure he would have ripped Seth to shreds if it hadn't been for Ellen and him. They grabbed Sam's upper arms and pulled him back forcefully.

"Sam, this won't solve anything, please, cool down!" Ellen tried to soothe him, "We have to think straight now, okay?"

Sam just huffed, got to his feet and repeated his hands-through-hair-action once more. He stepped away from Hel and Seth, who still hunkered on the floor, and desperately searched the room for nothing in particular.

"Did you see the bodies?" Hel asked after a break, aware that suddenly all eyes in the room were trained on him now.

Seth looked up, "What?"

"Did you see the bodies?" Hel repeated, "The corpses? Any evidence that your friends are dead?"

"Damnit yes! I saw that thing slash up Jason, I saw his fucking intestines!" Seth shouted at Hel.

"But did you. See. The. Others?" Hel was persistent.

At this question, Seth went silent, his eyes darting around the room. "No", he whispered, "No, I didn't...they were just gone."

Hel nodded and looked up to Ellen. "Is there anywhere we can lay him down? He needs some rest."

"Yeah, sure", she replied and stepped toward the spare room in the back of the Roadhouse as Hel laid one of Seth's arms over his shoulders and hoisted him up. He didn't bother to ask Sam for help, he was just glad that the boy had remained calm and hadn't tried to throttle the guy right there.

As they had placed Seth in one of the rooms and returned to the bar Sam was pacing and chewing on his fingernails, his cell phone to his ear. After a few seconds he cursed and put it back in his jeans. "I can't get a connection to Dean. Damnit!" He stomped to his bags and lifted them forcefully off the floor. "I'm gonna get there", he announced.

"Wait, what?" Ellen asked him, once again trying to grab the agitated Winchester.

"You heard me, I'll drive there myself and look for Dean. As Seth said, there was no...", he stopped and swallowed hard, afraid to use the word "corpse" or "body" in relation with Dean. "He can't just vanish, Ellen, maybe he's still there, alive, hiding. He's very likely injured and can't get away from there because that fucking coward took the truck and got the hell out of Dodge without even making sure if anybody might need help!"

"Easy there, I suggest you don't go anywhere in your condition, kiddo. Let's sit down and talk about this..." Hel tried to allay.

"I will NOT sit down and do some small talk when I know my brother's out there, alone, maybe dying." Sam hollered, towering over Hel and glaring at him.

"What makes you so sure that he's still alive, Sam?" Hel replied calmly and straightened in a weak attempt to appear a bit larger. This attempt however wasn't as successful as his effort to provoke

another collar-gripping-session. In seconds, Sam dropped his bags once more and grasped Hel's shirt with clenched fists. He pushed him backwards, slamming him roughly against the nearest wall and keeping him pinned there with his whole weight.

"Crap...Sam!" Ellen shouted, helplessly watching the scene.

"Sam", Hel grunted, "I'm on your side."

"Oh yeah? You sure?" Sam growled, his nose nearly touching Hel's.

"I know what this creature is. I can help, if you let me."

Sam's expression softened slightly and he let go of Hel, taking a few steps back. Hel released his breath and rolled his shoulders. "Thanks", he muttered and scuffled to his abandoned table. He pointed to the chairs, "Please, take a seat."

Ellen walked up to Sam and guided him to one of the chairs, lowering him gently with her hands on his shoulders. She sat next to him and clasped her hands. The chance that Dean and Patrick might be still alive gave her hope, and she was ready to believe everything that guy had to say in order to get them back. She and Sam now watched Hel as he flipped over one of the sprawled sheets of paper and pulled a pen out of his shirt.

"It's a legend that has been passed on by Native Americans for thousands of years", Hel explained and started to draw, "They drew petroglyph's of a giant bird on stone walls. The point that makes the legend so remarkable is that not just one tribe talks about it. It has been used in indian cultures by all tribes both east, west, north an south in the America's. It has many names. Pmola, Piasa, Tlanuwa, Badôgi..." he turned the sheet and pushed it toward Sam and Ellen, who now both stared at a sketch of a bird-like petroglyph. "...but it's common name is Thunderbird."

They gaped at the drawing, Sam and Ellen silently working out the information they just got, Hel waiting patiently for the reactions of his new acquaintances.

"Thunderbird? Like the car?" Ellen asked, her forehead furrowed.

"Yes, like the car", Hel laughed. "In fact, Ford took that emblem from what Native Americans had drawn. However, according to my tribe's tradition, the Winnebago, it says that thunder is a spirit, and it is an emblem of war, winged, mighty and awful. The Chippewa say it has eyes of fire, his glance is lightning, and the motions of his wings fill the air with thunder. It was told that the scream of the Thunderbird, the echo of thousands of victims, can paralyze it's prey." He leaned back on his chair and went on.

"After it had slaughtered habitants of smaller villages and even complete tribes in the 1840's it just disappeared without a trace. No one ever saw it again and the people thought it was dead. But with the story Seth told us, and if he's telling the truth..." Hel raised his eyebrows in a sorrowful manner, "...then we're in big trouble here."

"You sure it's this Thunderbird again? You think it's back?" Sam asked, his eyes not leaving the drawing.

"Well, Seth talked about a bird-like creature, a vulture-kind of thing, and that they hadn't been able to move as it shrieked, so I hate to say it but, yes, I'm pretty sure it's the same thing."

They lapsed into silence and dwelled in their thoughts again, letting the news sink in. Sam still eying the sketch of the Thunderbird-petroglyph, holding the sheet now in his hands, Ellen staring at Sam and Hel fidgeting with his pen.

"Hel", Sam reluctantly broke in, "Is there any chance my brother is still alive?"

Hel stopped his fidgeting and locked eyes with Sam. "This thing might be a monster, it kills either just for fun or it kills to eat. But it's also an animal. An animal that overwinters in the mountains. It needs to build up stocks in order to survive. And as we have the end of September it needs to build up it's stocks now."

Sam and Ellen paled slightly. "So what? It might have took Dean and Patrick and put them into it's pantry for hard times?" Sam asked in disbelieve, his eyes wide.

"That's my best guess. And as it likes it's food as fresh as possible it won't kill them until ..."

"Yeah, I get it", Sam cut him off and threw the sheet of paper back onto the table. He set his jaw and swallowed, his eyes full of determination. "Any ideas where we have to look for it? Where it's lair is? And how do we kill it?"

"Woah Sam", Hel huffed out, "No one ever fought against it so there's no instruction manual."

"I don't care, Hel." Sam said in a low voice that gave Ellen goosebumps and leaned forward. "Don't you get it? If there's just one tiny chance here to save my brother I'll take it. And if I can't kill it I'll find a way to outwit it, whatever, but I won't sit here and do nothing if there's a chance that he's still alive."

"Guys...", Ellen tried to interfere, sensing the upcoming war.

"And how do you intend to find it, Sam? Huh? Are you going to scatter birdseed all over the country and hope it'll appear? You don't know where to look." Hel's voice was something between sympathy and anger, slightly raised but calm.

"I know where to start." With the last sentence spoken in a low growl Sam stood, pushing his chair back with the back of his legs and turned. Ellen was up in seconds. "Where are you going?"

"I wake Seth and get some information", he muttered and marched toward the spare rooms.

"Sam!" Hel rose from his chair. "If you're so anxious to get in danger, okay then, go ahead. You win. But you won't go alone." With that, Hel gathered his notes from the table and put them back in his bag, shaking his head slightly. He couldn't believe he was doing this. One side of his mind screamed at him to just sit back and get another beer. Let the stubborn kid be, let him go out there and search for his brother. But the other side of his mind, together with his heart, admired Sam. For his determination, for his strength, hell, even for this stubbornness that had no equal. And for the love he felt for his brother. For the willingness to go on what was very clearly a kamikaze mission without even knowing if Dean was still alive. Besides Hel was a hunter. He had risked his life often enough for things far less precious.

Sam had stopped and watched as Hel stuffed his things into a sailor's kitbag. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm coming with you, you stubborn knucklehead. And as far as I know I'm the only Native American Indian with the expert knowledge of big vulture-like monsters in here."

A faint smile ghosted over Sam's face. "Okay", he replied softly, his gaze falling on Ellen as she stepped up between them. "I guess no one's gonna ask me what I think of this terrific plan?" She sighed and braced one hand against her hip, the other resting at the back of her head.. "I don't like this, not one bit, but I don't like the idea of giving up on Dean and Patrick either."

Hel fastened the knots of his bag and looked up. "I don't think it's a good idea to pull Seth into this again. You saw him, he's completely out of it, he won't be any help. I wonder how he'd managed to get back here from...where did they go?"

"Wyoming. Grand Teton National Park", Ellen replied. "I can fill you two up with everything I know, if that's going to help."

"Thanks Ellen", Sam said, a genuine smile on his face.

* * *

It took Sam and Hel less than half an hour to gather the information they needed and to get ready. Equipped with provisions, several first aid kits, Sam's laptop and Hel's maps and papers they stepped out of the Roadhouse, two men on a mission. In front of the porch they spotted Jason's red Ford Bronco. The sight of the car brought Sam to grief as he remembered the last time he'd seen it.

"So, I guess that's Seth's mobile hiding place, huh?" Hel asked, eyeing the truck and it's odd parking. He quickly climbed in and started the ignition. He shook his head. "It's nearly out of gas. Do you have a car, Sam? Otherwise we take mine."

Sam hesitantly glanced over his right shoulder to the Impala. Another pang of sorrow it him as he looked at the black car, gleaming despite the dark – almost as if she would challenge the night. I'm as black as you, but I'm glinting and you're not. Patting his pockets Sam was met with another reminder of his break-up with Dean. He had given his set of keys back to him last night.

Hel's eyes followed Sam's gaze, he sensed the young man's sadness. He raised his eyebrows. "Well well. That's a nice little ride."

"My brother's car", Sam stated. "He's kinda...well...obsessed with her."

"Her?" Hel raised his eyebrows before he jumped out of the Bronco. "I see. Come on."

Ellen appeared on the porch, leaning against the pillar, her arms crossed, the way she'd said goodbye to the others this morning and watched the two hunters pack their stuff into an old black Grand Cherokee sitting in one corner of the parking lot. As they'd finished, Hel waved his hand to her and slid onto the driver's seat. Sam approached her with a weary smile and she couldn't help but hug him as she had a couple of hours before.

"Bring them back", she whispered in his ear, "And don't forget to bring yourself as well."

"I do", Sam promised, releasing her. "Would you try to call Bobby for me? Maybe he knows something about that thing, something that might be useful."

Ellen nodded and folded her arms in a gesture of warming herself. It was getting colder, the summer noticeably sounded the retreat. Sam squeezed her shoulder and turned, climbing into the purring Cherokee. As the car drove off, she gazed after them, biting her lower lip and silently addressing a prayer to the big man above.

* * *

The two hunters drove in silence, both advancing a plan for their next moves.

Sam knew he should try to get some sleep, the drive to Wyoming would last about five hours and it would do no good to them if he won't be able to keep his eyes open once they arrived. But the concern for Dean rendered the task of a peaceful slumber impossible.

Once again his brother was in trouble because of his selfish demand for freedom. He wanted to scream, slam his fist into the dashboard, anything, frustration seeping through his very core. He shook his head slightly, his eyes moisturizing with unshed tears.

"You okay, Sam?" a gentle voice asking from the drivers seat, pulling Sam from his grief.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes, glancing over to Hel. "Yeah, I'm good", he answered, realizing that he sounded like a frightened child. After he had cleared his throat and was sure that he could trust his voice to come out at least a bit manlier, he slightly turned towards the older man.

"Uh...Hel, listen, I'm sorry...I mean...the way I spoke to you sooner, the way I treated you at the Roadhouse...I...normally I don't...let's say my brother's the impulsive one, not me." Sam let out a shaky laugh and bowed his head, suddenly thinking that his hands and fingers were quite interesting, even in the dark. On top of his sorrow for Dean he felt awfully miserable for what he said and did to Hel.

Hel rose a placating hand. "Sam, it's okay. Don't apologize for being worried."

Sam pressed his lips together and nodded, still fumbling with his hands. Again he cleared his throat.

"So, how do you know about this Thunderbird?"

"It's part of my tradition", Hel replied, watching the road ahead. "See, I've decided to leave my tribe but that doesn't mean I'm not familiar with it's lore and legends."

The young Winchester looked up and studied his companion. With his face only illuminated by the light coming from the instrument panel he looked almost a bit like Dad when he'd been younger. His dark, almost raven-black hair was short, albeit a bit ruffled, his sideburns were ending right beneath his ears. Sam had noticed earlier at the Roadhouse that Hel's big brown eyes radiated sympathy and confidence.

"Your name. What does it stand for?" Sam asked, slightly turning and leaning against the passenger side door, opening up to the man next to him.

"It's short for 'Helushka'. It's the Native American Winnebago name for 'Fighter'."

"And? Does it fit?"

Hel smirked and raised one eyebrow at Sam. "Hell yeah, it fits!"

When Hel started to chuckle softly Sam joined in, wondering what his story was, why Hel was the loner he seemed to be. Sure, there existed more hunters out there doing the job on their own, knowing full well that having friends or even siblings in the same boat meant more problems, more concern, more sorrow. Still, he couldn't think about doing all this on his own, without having someone trustfully having your back. And he couldn't help but think that Hel didn't seem to be the cool type, the no-company-please-hunter.

Once again Sam's musings were interrupted by the man next to him. "Listen Sam, you should get some sleep. I can wake you up when it's your turn do drive."

"I'm not tired", Sam replied, straightening in his seat immediately and opening his eyes wide. When did his eyelids got so damn heavy?

"Bullshit, you are tired. Try to sleep."

With that Sam let out a heavy sigh and gave up. He knew Hel was right and he feared he would knock him out if Sam would refuse to sleep. So he curled up against the door, folded his arms, his head resting against the side window.

"Did anybody ever told you that you're a really bossy person?" Sam mumbled, closing his eyes.

"You're the first", Hel replied and smirked.

He glanced at the huddled form of the young man beside him. He didn't know anything about this kid and his brother. Where was the rest of the family? Where did they live? Why were they hunting when they could easily have another life? Sam was a handsome guy, and though Hel didn't know Dean, he was sure that he was, too. They should have girlfriends or wifes, kids, a cozy home with a dog and a white picket fence. They shouldn't know a world where one brother had to face the possibility of losing the other by an oversized bird. Hel stared through the windshield, his gaze bound and determined.

"We'll get him back, Sam", he murmured to himself. "We'll find him and get him back."

**To be continued ...**


	4. Chapter 4

**It's me again! **

**A huge thanks to all of you who took the time to review, you totally make my day! As promised, I post the 4th chapter now and hope you like it.**

**I guess it's time again to send a massive binary hug to my lovely Me_Azrael who helped to get this story forward. Honeypie, you're the best!**

**And now let's see how Dean is doing, shall we?**

**Let's not forget the disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belong to the CW and Master Kripke – but at least I own Hel.  
**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 04**

Birds. Chirping birds. The first things Dean noticed as he slowly aroused from his unconscious state made him wonder where all those birds came from. He opened his eyes only to squeeze them shut again the second he was blinded by way too eager sunbeams. He swallowed and clenched his jaw, deciding to think first, act later. Lying on his back, not daring to even twitch a muscle he tried to recall the last events.

The memories hit him like a train and he once again opened his eyes, this time careful and in a blinking manner. He stared up into a cloudless sky which was turning into twilight; his view was only disturbed by a bunch of branches and grasses. As he slowly turned his head a little he recognized the steep hillside he had rolled down.

Fan-freakin'-tastic. He had gotten his ass kicked by a huge ugly poultry and had chosen the dumbest escape route, the scenic route to be exact, right down a freakin' cliff.

Still unmoving, still blinking and breathing slowly, Dean tried to assess his injuries. He was cold, terribly cold. This, however, didn't surprise him as he had obviously spent a few hours down here, unmoving, lying sprawled out at the bottom of this hill, wearing only jeans and his black thin jacket over a t-shirt and an equally thin over-shirt.

He slowly drew up his knees, first right, then left, and was relieved that his legs hadn't taken any damage. However, when he tried to turn on his side he was rewarded with a searing pain in his left shoulder and he had to bite down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from screaming out. He jerked and reflexively grabbed his annoying left shoulder. The movement caused a whole symphony of aches and pains cutting through his whole upper body. This time Dean didn't bother to stifle anything and let out a short scream, rolling back on his back and stopping any movements instantly, still grabbing his shoulder.

He panted and watched the sky once more, beads of sweat forming on his skin, despite the chilling cold of the evening. Carefully Dean pulled his hand away from the throbbing wound on his shoulder and wasn't surprised that it came away bloody. Swell. Not only that he had to roll down a cliff, he had had to scramble with a ten feet tall bird with badly manicured talons as well.

Frowning, he let his hand fall back to his side, his eyes open but seeing nothing specific. What the hell had that been anyway? He had never seen something like this before.

Deciding that he had to find a way out of his personal mess first, and deal with this thing later, Dean moved again, this time slowly and with caution. While struggling to sit up, his head informed him of it's presence with a painful hum. The nauseating feeling of something supposed to be solid moving slightly underneath his skin told him that he had at least a few cracked ribs.

After Dean had managed to sit up and take deep breaths to keep the dizziness at bay, he continued the stocktaking of the damage his body had taken. A mass of cuts and bruises he had acquired during his nose-dive down the hill were decorating each inch of his body, his clothes were partly torn and filthy. On top of this he was thirsty and starving.

Dean took a deep breath, closed his eyes again and tipped his head back, letting the late sun warm his face. He had to think. He had to get out of here. Had to get help. Now. And where the hell were the others?

He opened his eyes and looked around. He was surrounded by briars and bushes, a few feet away the Snake River rushed through the landscape, it's current filling the air with a soothing gurgle. Dean patted his pockets and cursed when he wasn't able to find neither his phone nor his gun. He reached into his boot for the knife he always kept there and was glad to find at least this was where it belonged.

"At least something is where it belongs", he said aloud and got up slowly, pressing his left arm close to his chest. He surveyed the cliff he'd encountered before.

"No way I'm going to climb up there with one busted arm and moving like a 90 year old", he muttered and took a few steps back to get a glance at the top.

"Jason? Patrick?" he hollered, cocking his ears for any sound that might come from above. "Seth? Anybody?" Apart from a couple of angry croaking birds flushing out of the bushes and the constant rushing of the river no reply was heard.

"This is just peachy!" Dean swore and furiously kicked a lump of earth into the undergrowth. The movement caused his ribs to scream and Dean hissed in pain, falling on his knees. After minutes of shallow breathing through clenched teeth he sighed.

"Pity-party not helping, Winchester", he panted and gathered his thoughts. He looked towards the river, decided to do first things first and got to his feet. He staggered to the water, dropped on the riverbank and cupped his hands before he plunged it into the clear water. _I hope it's halfway as clean as it looks,_ Dean thought before he swallowed the chilling liquid. Then he splashed another handful on his face, clenching his jaw due to the painful sensations running through his shoulder, ribs and head.

"Son of a bitch", he ground out and took deep breaths. He took his jacket, over-shirt and t-shirt off, shivering and grunting, and ripped two broad strips from his over-shirt. He dampened one strip and cleaned the wound on his shoulder, which at least had stopped bleeding. He weakly tossed the fabric aside and wrapped the wound firmly with the second strip. After he had put his clothes back on he was drenched in sweat and tilted slowly sidewards until he rested with his right side on the ground once more. He watched the raging current rushing along with his eyes on half-mast, shivering despite his sweat-covered clothes, his right hand resting on his left shoulder.

"Oh god, I want a bed", he mumbled as he thought of the soft mattress he had slept on at the Roadhouse. He thought about Sam, who was probably preparing himself for a Greyhound bus ride towards California right now, and Dean's heart grew heavy. _The first hunt in years without Sam having my back and see what happens. You're dependent on your baby brother, Deano_. Dean couldn't suppress a humorless chuckle and pushed his thoughts back again. He had to get his ass up, search for help, search for the others.

No one knew they were here except for Ellen, but to the time she'd get suspicious several days would pass, and with his injuries, the lack of food plus all the cuddly animals inhabiting the park Dean wasn't sure if he could hang on that long. The possibility of meeting a hiker was also quite small. He had no choice but get the hell up and move. There was no way for him to get on top of that hill where the truck was – if it was still there – and where the weapons were. And as if all this wasn't bad enough, he had no clue in which direction he should go.

Dean clenched his jaw once more and sat up, an angry growl leaving his lips. He slammed his right fist into the coarse gravel as white-hot pain erupted from his upper body, but he continued his intention of getting to his feet. As he finally stood on unsteady legs, he glanced around and decided to walk along the river towards the direction they had come from with the truck this afternoon. With the river at his side he'd always have something to drink and he knew that the stream passed some campsites. If he would follow the river, his chances might not be that bad. So Dean began to walk.

* * *

"We have to turn right in..." Hel stated, studying a map in one hand and holding a flashlight in the other. Suddenly he straightened and waved a hand "...here, right here, turn right!"

Sam slammed on the brakes and pulled the steering wheel around, turning into a gravel path and leaving the paved road behind. Both men tilted to the side, Sam bumping into the drivers side door and Hel nearly into him.

"Geez, Hel, that order came a bit late, don't you think?" Sam grumbled and shifted in his seat.

"Sorry, I haven't been able to see the turnoff in time."

The two hunters had been driving half of the night and had finally arrived at the Park. Shortly after midnight Hel and Sam had changed positions in the Cherokee so that Hel had been able catch some sleep as well. Now they were both wide awake and following Ellen's notes as good as they were able to in the pitch black of the night. She had told them about the vantage point at the Snake River where she had sent Dean and the others and had written the directions down on a sheet of paper. They were still about an hour out but Sam felt already better now that he was here. was strangely comforting to feel near to his brother

"This path will lead us straight to the vantage point", Hel muttered and stuffed his papers into the side compartment. They drove in silence for a while. At some point Hel grabbed his bag and pulled a thermos flask out. He carefully poured some coffee in a cup and held it out to Sam, who gratefully accepted it. Sam reduced the speed in order to avoid spilling the hot liquid all over the seats and took a sip.

He was glad that he'd been driving, it distracted him a bit from his concern for Dean. He knew that blaming himself for what was happening wouldn't help anyone. With one hand gripping the steering wheel in a vice-like grip, the other clutching the cup he stared ahead, trying to ease his mind.

"Sam, can I ask you something?" Hel interrupted his thoughts. He had poured some coffee into another cup and had put the thermos flask back into his bag. He held his cup with both hands.

"Sure."

"How did you and your brother slip into all this?"

"What do you mean?" Sam lowered the cup and glanced at Hel.

"Hunting. I mean, look at you, you're young, you should go to college, have a beautiful girlfriend, some less dangerous hobbies."

Sam pressed his lips together and put his cup into the cup holder beside him. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands now, his knuckles turning white. "Well, I've been to college. And I intended to go back there the other night."

"When this Seth-guy showed up?"

"Yes."

"And Dean? What about him?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Our story is...it's very long and complicated." And with that, Sam began to talk. He told Hel about Dean's and his mother, burned alive on the ceiling in his nursery, told him about their father's crusade, his hunt for this demon and the way they had been raised. Hel learned about Sam's attempt to live a normal life as he had gone to Stanford. Sam told Hel about the day Dean had shown up to find their father and how Jessica died. He told him about Dean and the last year when they had hunted together, grown together and had become brothers again. He told Hel of their reunion with their father and the deal John had made to save Deans life a few months ago. And finally he told Hel about his decision to go back to California again, without Dean, because his brother was a stubborn jerk.

Hel had remained silent. He had listened closely, not able to say a word as he learned of the lifes Sam and Dean Winchester had lived and were living. After minutes of complete silence, Hel took a deep breath.

"God", he whispered. "I'm sorry for what happened to your parents and your girlfriend."

Sam nodded and swallowed hard. Hel stared out of the windshield, his mind working up what he'd just heard.

"You know", Sam started, "I thought it would be a good idea to go back to California, I really did. But now...I'm not sure anymore."

Hel glanced at Sam. "What do you mean?"

"Dean's everything I have. He's been there for me whenever I needed him. And I always run away from him, whenever I get the chance." Sam chuckled sadly, blinking the tears away. "And now this. He's out there, I don't know if he's still alive, I don't know if I'll ever see him again. And I realize I can't do this. I can't leave him, live without him, having him not included into my life. It's as simple as that."

Hel nodded slightly and turned his gaze back on the road ahead. "When I was your age, maybe a bit older, I met this wonderful woman, her name was Aiyanna. We've grown up at the same reservation, but we didn't know each other until we met one day. We fell in love, we married, she expected our first child." He paused and looked down. "One night, I was with my two brothers out in the field, I heard her screaming. We raced back and found her behind the house – Sam, I'll never forget this sight. There was this wolf standing above her. Now I know what kind of wolf it had been, but back then I hadn't a clue. My older brother tried to shoo it away from Aiyanna but it just stared at him. It just stood there and stared at all of us, like it was laughing at us with the saliva running down his flews and the blood wetted fur."

Hel ran a hand through his hair. Then he continued. "And then it turned and ran away. Just like that. My wife, my unborn child, both dead."

He swallowed and both men fell silent for several minutes before Hel went on. "I left the reservation and learned whatever there was to learn about this creature. I learned were lots of other supernatural creatures and I became a hunter. And I swore to myself that I won't ever let someone get too close to me. I swore that I'd never face such a loss again."

Sam looked at Hel and nodded, understanding. "It's a shame that every hunter has a sad story to tell."

"Yeah. But you know what?" Hel patted Sam's knee and flashed him a weak, but genuine smile. "We can save other people from suffer the same fate. And that's what helps me to get out of bed every day."

Sam mirrored Hel's smile and opened his mouth to reply when suddenly his features froze. He reduced the speed of the Cherokee and straightened in his seat.

"Hel, over there", he called out and brought the car to a halt. According to a road sign, they had reached the vantage point.

Sam turned on the full beam of the car and both men climbed out of the vehicle, waving their flashlights and taking in the scene in front of them. Nothing could be heard except their boots crunching on the gravel and some nocturnal animals.

A few feet away laid some kind of weapon with a tank, nothing modern though. Sprawled over the whole platform were bags. But what Sam and Hel disturbed the most was the mess that once had been an adult man.

"I guess we just found Jason", Hel stated dryly, took a few steps and went down on his haunches to examine the corpse. Where Jason's chest had been Hel was met with a gory hole, his throat looked like something had ripped every single muscle out before it had teared the artery to shreds. "Good lord", Hel muttered and put a fist to his mouth.

Sam wrinkled his nose and looked around, his gaze falling on one of the scattered bags immediately. He knew this bag. He would recognize it everywhere. In three long strides he was on his knees beside Dean's duffel and opened it up, checking it's contents. Sam wanted to start crying, now, as he remembered watching his brother neatly clean and load the weapons which had been stuffed into this bag the night before he'd left for this godforsaken hunt. Looking up and searching the ground around him he spotted Dean's beloved .45 lying a few feet away in the gravel, gleaming in the beam of the flashlight. The gleaming gun almost distracted Sam from the red-brown stains on the ground.

Almost.

"God", Sam choked out biting onto his bottom lip and clenching one hand into a fist.

"Sam? What is it?" Hel asked, concern in his voice.

Sam stood and walked slowly over to the gun, took it up and checked the clip. "This is Dean's bag", he said, nodding his chin to the duffel, still lying in the gravel. "And this is his gun. The clip's empty."

"Like Seth had said, they had emptied their clips into this beast and it didn't even flinch." Hel mumbled in frustration. Sam fought the urge to throw the gun away or slam it on the ground and stomp on it. He had to keep himself together, for Dean's sake. _Hunter mode, Sam, panicky brother mode won't help_ he commanded himself before he tugged Dean's gun into his jacket. He then stepped to the cliff's edge and looked down, letting the flashlight wander over the bushes and rocks. He walked slowly along the edge in search of any signs for his sibling or the other lost hunter, Patrick.

Hel had turned and checked the other bags, a light brown day pack containing maps, some notes, spare clips, a hunting knife and provisions. Another duffel, gray, stuffed with knifes, torches and guns. What truly impressed him was the heap of metal that looked like one of those things the Ghostbusters used in the movies, without the blinking lights and shiny paintwork. As he inspected it further he recognized it as a flamethrower.

"Well prepared", he muttered to himself "for a Wendigo hunt, that is." Hel stood, grabbed the bags and put them into his truck, then returned for the flamethrower to stow it away as well. With his head bowed and his eyes on the floor he walked around, searching the gravel for a trace to start. Where tracking in daylight was hard, tracking at night was nearly impossible. _Come on Hel, time to unwrap the Indian with the magnificent tracking abilities_. He went on his haunches again and took a closer look at the gravel, his eyes narrowed, scanning the area.

"Anything?" Sam asked with a rough voice as he stepped up beside Hel a few minutes later and went on his haunches as well.

"Yes. Here..." Hel replied, his free open hand hovering over some tire tracks in the dirt, "... these are the tire tracks from the Ford, one set from the car arriving here and one set of it rushing away." He raised his head and looked around, running his flashlight over different corners of the platform. "I've found four different footprints from heavy boots and I've found traces coming from large claws. And I've found three spots of disturbed ground that look like some kind of struggle had taken place there. Well, if you count Jason's fight it's four, but we already know what happened to him."

"Okay", Sam nodded, his stomach churning. This was so not good.

"One spot is where the car had been, so I'd say this was Seth, crouching under the car. But those two..." Hel got up and walked toward the cliff's edge, his free hand pointing at two different spots of ruffled dirt "...will give us a clue to what happened."

Sam had followed, his eyes and flashlight darting from one spot to the other. "Fill me in."

"This one ends", Hel pointed to one spot, "There are footprints toward this spot, but none walking away."

"Is that Thunderbird able to grab an adult man and carry him off?"

"According to the lore – it is. And I think that's exactly what happened here."

Sam crouched down and inspected the footprints. He was glad that Hel had managed to read the traces up here like other people read books or magazines. Of course Sam would have been able to read the tire tracks and the footprints, but with the speed Hel had found out how many prints there were and how many people had left them behind and it which direction every single person had gone – it was amazing to Sam. However, there were things Hel couldn't tell.

Sam had to know if these were Dean's footprints. And Sam was able to detect them.

After seconds, he sighed, one part of him relieved, the other part as concerned as before. "These aren't Dean's", he said, getting up from the ground. "Too small, and the tread doesn't fit with Dean's boots."

As Hel raised an eyebrow at him and Sam just shrugged. "What? I've tracked him down a few times before, I know his soles as well as I know him."

Hel shook his head in disbelief, but had to admit that he once again had to marvel at the brothers relationship. Although he didn't know the older one, he knew that their bond had to be unbelievably strong.

"Alright Sam, look at this one..." In two strides Hel stood above the second spot near the edge. "What do you think?"

As Sam followed the tracks of a preceding fight, clearly identifiable by the blood stains and the loosened ground he stopped dead in his tracks as he noticed that the traces ended abruptly at the edge. _Why didn't I notice this?_ He berated himself mentally.

"Someone did fall off the cliff", Sam breathed, once again trying to see something at the bottom. He looked up at Hel with wide eyes, then turned again toward the valley.

"DEAN!" He shouted, "DEAN? ARE YOU THERE?"

Both hunters listened intently, trying to catch whatever human sound might be audible. Except for the river and an angry squeal of a flushed up bird they weren't hearing anything.

"We have to get down there, Hel, now."

Hel nodded. „I was afraid you'd say that. Okay, let's get our stuff and do some climbing."

Loaded with a small amount of their provisions, the first aid kits and weapons Hel and Sam started to slowly climb down the hillside, managing to earn some cuts from the rebellious undergrowth that was hidden from their lights. Cursing, the two men worked their way to the bottom. Sam crouched ahead and waved his Maglite over the scrub as it's beam suddenly reflected on something. Something familiar and very un-floral. He stretched and pulled a cell phone from one of the bushes. The display was cracked and the battery was missing, probably lying in another bush.

_Dean. Now we know for sure it was you taking a nose-dive down this hill_. Sam stroked the small device with his thumb.

"Sam?"

Sam looked up and held the phone up to Hel. "Dean's cell. He must have lost it on his way down."

The men continued their way down and reached the bottom where they were met with blades of grass, normally standing upright. Except of one area directly at the bottom where it had flattened. Stepping up and inspecting the crushed grass, Sam winced as he again discovered blood, this time far too much to stay calm.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._ "Damnit, he's hurt, pretty bad, Hel. He'd lost a lot of blood."

"Easy, Sam, as long as he's able to walk away, he might be feeling better than we think. Come on, let's check out the river." Hel turned and walked off, toward the stream, leaving Sam chewing on his fingernails and once again raking a hand through his hair, his eyes glued on the blood stains in the grass. Hel was right, as long as he was marching around, he had to be fine. Dean is always fine, isn't he? Why couldn't he stay put, they would've found him already. Sam stalked through the high grass, following Hel to the river, his thoughts running wild. _Aw...he knew no one would come. He knew I wouldn't come. I'm sorry, Dean. God...I'm so sorry._

"Sam! Over here!" It was Hel's shout that pulled him out of his thoughts and he ran the remaining feet to the spot where his new friend knelt at the riverside.

"What was Dean wearing?" Hel asked before Sam came to a halt at his side.

"Uh...Jeans, a black jacket, a black t-shirt and a dark blue over-shirt. You got something?"

Hel held up a dark wadded rag that looked like it had been ripped off of some larger cloth. The rag was nearly black but as Sam examined it further he could see that it's original color had to be dark blue. Dampness and stained with blood made it appear black.

"Seems like your brother had been able to tend himself. That's actually good news."

"Yeah", the younger Winchester mumbled, taking the rag from Hel. "This thing's nearly dry already, which means Dean has a couple of hours in advance."

"So, the Million Dollar Question is: which direction did he go? This shingle here makes it impossible to read any tracks."

Both men looked around, both being at a loss. Dean was injured, but lucid enough to take care of himself and with the determination to get help. To get out of here. Which didn't give any information on his condition, how fast or how slow he was going, how long he would be able to go on altogether. And in which direction he was headed.

After a few minutes Sam pointed downstream. "This way. This is the direction you come from when you want to get to the vantage point, the direction we came from and surely the others came from, too. It's the safest way to civilization, so I'd say Dean would go this way."

Hel nodded and adjusted his bag. "Okay. Let's go and find your brother, Sam."

**To be continued...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey folks! It'a Sunday again and here we go! **

**A massive thank you for all of you who're still sticking with me and another massive thank you for those who review. It's such a good feeling to read about how you share and enjoy the thrill with me. **

**In this chapter we jump into the past again and learn more about the impact Sam's decision had had on Dean. Those passages are set in Italics.**

**And the good old disclaimer, Supernatural and it's characters didn't emenate from my mind yada yada...but I still own Hel. And the stag beetle, he's mine, too.  
**

**So, Enjoy!  
**

**Chapter 05**

_So, that's how an old dog must feel just before he gets shot. Good to know._ Dean made his way through the shady grove, his pace slow, his body aching. At least the brass band in his head had decided to take a break and he could fully concentrate on his throbbing shoulder and the pain searing through his ribs with every step he took. He'd reached the woods and was now staggering through underbrush and moss covered rocks, always following the Snake River.

It was almost dark and soon Dean would have to stop and set up a fire, it was nonsense to go on without being able to see the hand in front of your face. And he definitely needed a break. But the fear of stopping and resting and then not being able to get up again made him walking, and he only stopped to check on his shoulder and have a drink at the beach bar.

An enraged jay bird seemed to chase Dean, he was nowhere to be seen but his angry screech was audible since the hunter had entered the forest an hour ago.

"Shut the hell up!" Dean shouted toward the treetops. "I've already had my fill of your kind for this week." He clutched at his shoulder again and stumbled over a root, nearly falling down but he straightened and took a deep breath before he went on.

His thoughts gathered back to the events of the afternoon. He hadn't seen such a creature before. It had to be a supernatural kind of thing, of that he was sure, unless there was a nuclear power plant near that had interfered. He knew how big a vulture had to be, this one had been way too big for his taste. And it's eyes? It's screech? The noises it had made? Definitely not the type you get to see on the Discovery Channel.

Damnit, Jason. Although Dean had met him just days ago he'd instantly liked the man. And Patrick. That poor kid had been far too young to die.

"Maybe he made it", Dean muttered to himself, "maybe he got away. Yeah, the boy's smart, he and Seth had gotten away..." He stumbled again, this time landing face-first on the fir needle covered forest ground with a cry of pain. He stayed down, lying on his stomach, panting, turning his head to avoid inhaling the dry leafs and needles. That's it. He wouldn't walk one more step. Just lying here and falling asleep worked perfectly fine for him. _I'm sorry, Sam._ He closed his eyes and tried to project an image of his beloved little brother.

"_Hey Sammy, what's going on in that geeky head of yours? You alright?"_

"_Yeah. Sure."_

"_Come on, you're making a face like someone repeatedly walks over your grave for days now. Spill it already."_

"_It's...I..."_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I made a decision."_

"_Uh-Huh. I'm all ears. You wanna visit a barber finally, get your hair cut?"_

"_Dean! Would you...would you just shut up and sit down, okay?"_

"_Whatever. See, I'm sitting, happy? Now what?"_

"_I...God, this is not easy. I'm tired, you know. All this hunting and...saving people but failing in saving __the ones we love. I...don't think I want to do this anymore."_

"_What are you talking about?"_

"_I'm talking about quitting, Dean. I'm talking about hanging this whole thing up. I'm talking about a Joe-the-plumber-life. I'm talking...I just...I want to...damn it."_

"_You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding."_

"_No Dean, I'm not kidding. I made up my mind. I want to go back to California, maybe I can pick up my study. There are a few people at Stanford believing I could go on where I left, hell, they're practically begging me to take that second chance."_

"_I thought this might be your second chance. A second chance with your family...well, with what's left of it..."_

"_I want a life, Dean. Without traveling around, without killing things, without fearing to lose exactly this family I have left. I caught a glimpse of normal when I was with Jessica and I loved it. I want it back. As I told you before, I'm not going to do this for the rest of my life. And honestly, I don't want you to do it, either. That's why I want you to come with me this time."_

"_Sam..."_

"_Please, Dean. Just...think about it, okay? I'm begging you here, think about this. A normal life. We could..."_

"_You think this is an option? Huh? Just run away, hide and hope that this demon won't find us? Hoping that if it comes one day and knocks on your door you can say ‚Sorry, I'm not in this business __anymore but hey, thanks for your visit.' You think it's that easy, Sam?"_

"_Would you calm down? Look, I know we can't be sure to be safe..."_

"_Exactly, we can never be sure, and that's why we have a job to do."_

"_Who says we are the one who have to do it? Didn't we sacrifice enough? Don't you think we did our bit?"_

"_It doesn't work like that, Sam."_

"_I don't care! No one forces us to risk our lives over and over again. Dad did, but..."_

"_Oh, now that he's gone we are freed of our duties? It. Does. Not. Work. Like. That!"_

"_Don't you want to do something else, Dean? Look at me and tell me that you never ever wanted to have a normal life, look me in the eyes and say it."_

"_I can't do anything else, Sam. I never did anything else."_

"_But you can try! We can live a happy life and still keep our eyes open for that son of a bitch!"_

"_I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry for you being so unhappy, stuck with me and all that."_

"_Dean..."_

"_But I can not and I will not pack it all in."_

"_Dean...where are you going? Please, let us work this out! We have to talk about this!"_

"_Just...just leave me alone right now, okay? Just a few hours...I need just a few hours..."_

"_Dean, wait..."_

Dean opened his eyes again and let them wander over the forest ground, spotting a huge version of a stag beetle stalking along mere inches from his face. He didn't care. The idea of giving up, just drift off into whatever was very tempting. If it hadn't been for this ugly bug, which changed it's direction and stalked right toward Dean's face.

Dean eyed the insect suspiciously. "Looks like you're as lost as I am, huh?"

The stag beetle stopped, unmoving, only his shuddering antler-like palps implying that he was aware.

"But I tell you what. I'm much prettier than you."

The beetle still didn't move and Dean couldn't help but snort at the situation. "I can't believe I'm talking to a beetle. Maybe I should find me a volleyball and call him Wilson."

As the black insect turned and staggered away, Dean felt suddenly lonely again. _See, everyone's leaving me. Even a stag beetle runs away. Just great._

He managed to roll onto his back and watched the treetops melting together with the dark sky, as he suddenly heard a rustling. Dean turned his head, his eyes narrowed, trying to find out from which direction the noise had come. He carefully rolled on his stomach again and brought his hands on the ground beside him. As he slowly got to his knees, biting back a grunt of pain, he scanned his surroundings.

The rustling came again, this time accompanied by a low-pitched hiss. Dean reached for the knife in his boot and crouched backwards toward the river until he knelt at the banks. _Please let that be my friend the beetle with his ninepins league. _

Another hiss, almost a growl, a lot louder this time, made Dean's stomach lurch. It was definitely not an insect approaching him. The second Dean cursed and tightened the grip on the knife handle a slender cat exited the dense underbrush, about 2 feet tall at the shoulders, it's coat tawny, it's yellow eyes never leaving it's prey.

"Just my luck", Dean muttered angrily, "What is this, a freakin' zoo?"

As the cougar stepped closer it continued it's purring and growling, showing it's rather impressive pearly whites, Dean had to acknowledge that he was in a really crappy situation right now. To handle a hungry cougar with nothing but a toothpick, plus the agility of a retiree might get a bit hairy.

The large cat wrinkled it's muzzle and growled again, lowering it's head, circling Dean.

"Come on kitty, kitty", Dean taunted the cougar with gritted teeth. He had managed to get up, was bend over at the waist in an alert position, ready to move whenever the furball in front of him decided to have lunch. He held his arms out, his right handling the knife, his left outstretched like an animal trainer. The hunter watching the hunter, both waiting for the other to move.

It seemed like the cougar was hungry. With one final growl it tensed and lunged front paws first at the elder Winchester. Dean reacted fast as lightning, threw himself sideways on the ground and rolled away in one graceful motion. The yelp escaping his lips was partly from surprise, but most from the pain the sudden movement had caused. He tried to get to his knees but failed as he realized he wasn't able to breathe anymore.

The cougar hissed angrily as it's jump guided it straight into the current of the river. Screeching and struggling it quickly leapt out of the hateful water and shook itself. As it regained it's composure it spotted Dean immediately.

Dean lay on his side, one arm clutching his chest, and panted, desperately trying to get enough air into his lungs. But with every breath he managed he was rewarded with a white-hot pain searing through his upper body. With his other arm he tried to lift his body but couldn't find the strength to do so.

"Damnit..." he gasped as he watched the cat approaching him again, "gimme...a...break...here..."

The animal answered once more with a low growl before it lowered it's body again, ready to lunge at it's price one final time.

* * *

"So, what's your brother like?" Hel asked as the two men marched along the rushing waters. They were walking for quite some time now in complete silence, both deep buried in thoughts. Hel had been able to get an idea of the boy at his side during the last hours they had spent together and he'd wondered if Dean was much alike. "His strengths and kinks."

Sam, who'd walked slightly behind Hel, looked up, surprised, before he lowered his gaze and examined the ground once more.

"Well, Dean's worst habits...first of all he's stubborn as hell."

"Oh, he is, too? So I guess if you two aren't of one mind then one can witness a hell of a battle, right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sam looked up again but couldn't suppress a smile.

"You know what I mean, Sam", Hel said with a smirk.

"Well, yeah, I learned from the best."

"I thought so. So, what else?"

"You never met a person in your whole life who's as ravenous as he is. I mean seriously, I'm really wondering how he's able to keep in shape. Nothing eatable is safe around my big greedy brother."

Both men chuckled and Sam continued. "You also never ever met a person with such a big mouth. You could fly a plane in there. And if he isn't getting in trouble because of it he uses it to complain."

"Sounds like a big brother to me", Hel stated, a big grin still plastered on his face.

"Yeah, and he's over-protective. Like as I'm still five years old."

Hel turned his head to Sam and waggled with his eyebrows in a knowing manner. "Big brother", he remarked.

"He has this habit, I guess you could say, of mindlessly leaping into harm's way if it means saving someone else. He can't seem to help it."

"And this is a bad habit?" Hel asked challenging.

"No, of course not, but..." Sam went serious, "I've stopped counting the times I've almost lost him, you know. Sometimes it has been way too close."

"But he's still here, Sam. And judging by these tracks he's still alive and kicking...well, maybe not kicking, but moving."

Sam sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. It was damn dark out here. Far away from any big city or streets he suddenly thought about how spoilt he actually was by street lamps and ever present lights. The flashlights Hel and him used were really good, but they couldn't replace daylight. He didn't want to think about how many tracks of Dean they had missed and how Dean was doing without any light at all. He was nearly sick with worry for his brother. Understatement of the year, he was on the brink of completely freaking out.

He didn't know how bad Dean was hurt. _He's walking, Sam, he's moving, trying to get out of this, that's a good sign. On the other hand, you know your brother with his Dean-Winchester-only-stops-if-he's-dead-attitude. He'd crawl through the whole damn park with one or two of his limbs missing. Stubborn as a mule. If he'd just stayed put we've already had found him by now._

On top of that Sam wondered if Dean had something to protect himself against the cold. Water was no problem as long as he followed the river. But what about food? It wasn't like Dean was a boyscout and he just didn't know how far his surviving-in-the-nature-skills went, like hunting a deer with bare hands or live of fruits and plants for days. _Damnit. This is so not good._

Not to mention this freaky monster bird that was still out there.

But far the worst had been the realization that his older sibling wouldn't expect anyone to save him. That maybe he didn't know that Seth had been able to get help. The only person in Dean's life that always had his back was not a part of his life anymore. And no one would miss him. _Shit. Hold on, Dean, I'm on my way, just hold on._

"Sam?"

Sam looked up, startled by Hel's voice. He wiped his eyes to get rid of the blurry vision and cleared his throat. "Yeah?"

"You okay?" Hel asked, his voice soft and understanding.

"Yes, I was just thinking. I'm good, just...worried." Sam tried to laugh but failed miserably as his features turned into a grimace instead. Hel nodded and narrowed his eyes, letting his gaze wander over the outlines of their surroundings and walked on in silence.

Sam lowered his gaze again and stared on the ground, his eyes following the footprints which, to Sam's horror, had transformed from clear imprints to now awkward drag marks. _He's getting weaker. He's dragging himself more then he's walking. God._

"_Why do you want to leave so badly, Sammy?"_

Had it just been a few days since Sam had announced his decision to quit hunting? The argument he had with Dean before his brother had stomped out of their hotel room and had crashed in a bar?

"_Am I such awful company? Huh?"_

Sam took a deep breath and recalled the evening. He'd waited in their room for about two hours before he decided to search for Dean. He didn't have to go far, he'd spotted his brother at the first bar on the main street, hunched over a glass of whiskey that surely hadn't been his first. He hadn't even bothered to pull off his leather jacket.

_As the younger Winchester took a seat beside his brother, Dean didn't look up, he just stared at the amber liquid with a vacant expression._

"_You're still here", Dean stated, slightly slurring, turning the glass in his right hand, watching mindlessly as the ice cube banged from side to side._

"_Where else should I be?" Sam asked, his voice soft, his eyes showing something between sadness and sympathy._

"_On your way to Cali. Heading to freedom. Escaping from the big nasty things in the dark and your big nasty brother."_

"_Oh yeah, the big nasty brother is by far the worst", Sam laughed, trying to lighten up the situation. Noticing that it didn't work, he went serious again and grabbed Dean's arm. "Come on, let's get you back to the motel..."_

_With a sudden forceful move Dean jerked his arm out of Sam's grasp, his eyes never leaving his glass._

"_Don't touch me, Sam", he growled._

"_Dean..."_

"_Whatever I do, it's none of your fuckin' business anymore."_

_Sam chewed on his bottom lip and looked out for the bartender, who was busy chatting with a young couple at the other end of the counter. Then he returned his gaze to his brother again. _

"_We have to talk about this, man. Why are you making this so hard for me?"_

"_Oh, it's hard for you? Uh-huh, who's giving whom a hard time here, Sam?" For the first time since __Sam had found his brother at the bar, he looked up from his drink . The pain Sam witnessed in Dean's eyes nearly broke his heart. Pain, betrayal, sorrow, all of it united in his brother's huge glassy eyes._

"_I...Dean, I...", Sam tried to speak through the lump in his throat._

"_Why do you want to leave so badly, Sammy?" It was barely a whisper and combined with the look on Dean's face it was all Sam needed to break. "Am I such awful company? Huh?"_

"_Would you stop that? God..." Sam raked his hands through his hair and tried to blink the tears away in his eyes. "Could you stop taking this so personal? I don't want to leave you and you're everything but awful company. I love you, I'd die for you and the last thing I want to do is run away from you. But I don't want to go on like this. This ever present fear for our lives, this vagabond lifestyle..." Sam grabbed Dean's arm again, this time without any resistance._

"_I'm tired of this", he continued softly and snorted, "Hell, maybe it's just a phase and after two days I'm begging to get back on the road, but now...I just need some time off."_

_He searched for Dean's eyes which were once again glued to the drink. He watched as his brother's jaw clenched as he tried to stop his chin from trembling._

"_Dean? Talk to me, man."_

_Dean shook his head ever so slightly and remained silent, his gaze lifting from his drink, changing into a stare into nothingness. Sam huffed and joined his sibling with the staring._

"_Come on. You're scaring me here. Tell me that you're coming with me. I know that it's something completely new for you but you're smart. You deserve a normal life, Dean. Please. Try it. For me."_

_But Dean remained quiet._

* * *

**To be continued...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello there. **

**I can see you fidget your fingers in pleasant anticipation, I like that. In this one we have a little meet and greet with old friends.**

**Once again, I only play with the characters, they still belong to the Krip and the CW. **

**My beloved Honeypie, tons of kisses for you for your help with this beast. I owe ya!  
**

**Enjoy chapter 6.**

**Chapter 06**

Dean watched as the oversized cat prepared itself for it's final attack. He lay curled up on his side, both arms now wrapped around his upper body, panting in an desperate effort to get enough air into his lungs. His eyes were darting between his furred enemy and his knife which lay a few feet away and out of reach.

_Of all possible deaths I can't believe I've chosen to be supper for a pussycat. This is so not heroical._

With a sound between an angry hiss and a painful shriek the cougar suddenly jerked back and shook it's head. Another jerk followed and the animal took a few steps backwards. Dean's eyes widened in disbelief as the cougar jerked a third time and finally backed off into the undergrowth, snarling and shrieking.

_Uh-huh._

As Dean heard a rustling from the bushes he tensed once more, cursing silently as the movement did nothing to his labored breathing.

"Dean?"

_What the...?_

"Oh god, Dean, it's really you!"

"Patrick?"

The shadowy figure that stepped out of the botany rushed to Dean's side and laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"Yeah, it's me. Man...I thought...I..."

The young formerly counted for lost Patrick let out a nervous, relieved laughter, while Dean let out the breath he'd been holding and let his head slump on the ground, his eyes drifting shut. He'd thought he'd never ever see the young hunter again, had grieved over the horrible death the kid had died on his first real hunt. And now Patrick was there, safe and sound, and, to top it all off, laughing. Dean opened his eyes again and surveyed the young man who kneeled over him.

Patrick's clothes had definitely seen better days. They were partially ripped and covered with dirt. His hair, normally neatly put up to a ponytail hair was tousled and riddled with tiny twigs and weed. Although the ponytail was still present, it hung from his head in a rather rampant way. Patrick's face was covered with cuts, bruises and dirt, so were his hands and the rest of his body. Apart from that he seemed to be okay.

Dean took a breath to say something but failed as he fell into a fit of coughing.

"Easy, take it easy", Patrick soothed as he patted Deans upper arm. When the coughing subsided Dean rolled onto his back and continued his panting, before he gave Patrick a weak smile.

"Man, it's good...to see you. Are you okay? How did you...?"

"Scare your new girlfriend away?" Patrick chuckled and pulled something out of his waistband. "See? You big bad guys always have a knife somewhere, I have my beloved slingshot."

"Nice...guess I have to...deposit one of those things... in my trunk...just in case...", Dean rasped and laughed heavily before he started to cough again. He felt Patrick's eyes on him and when he squinted up at him, his refreshing smile was gone.

"How are you holding up there?"

"Ah, nothing a hot shower...couldn't cure", Dean panted as he caught his breath again. "Help me up, would ya..."

Patrick grasped Dean's hand and pulled him into a sitting position, which elicited a grunt and some curses from the elder Winchester. With united forces they managed to get to a tree that Dean welcomingly slid down and used to lean against. As Patrick knelt before him and nestled with Dean's jacket the older hunter swatted his hand away.

"M'fine, Patrick...really...I'm good."

"No, you're not. Let me see, I know what I'm doing."

"Geez, you're...worse than...my little brother..."

Patrick smiled and lifted Dean's jacket to take a look at his shoulder. The way he grimaced told Dean that he might have been a bit overconfident concerning his current condition. He looked down and eyed the mess with a clenched his jaw. The makeshift bandage was soaked with blood. When Patrick removed it, Dean looked up and gave him a innocent smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Huh...had stopped...bleeding before...must have opened again after...my stunt."

"That looks quite nasty and the way I see it it's already infected. What about your breathing, what's wrong? Anything cracked that shouldn't be cracked?" Patrick laid his hands softly on Dean's side and gave slight pressure on his ribs.

"I'm fi...", Dean began before he suddenly screamed out. His cry of pain was accompanied by another coughing fit.

"Shit, Dean", Patrick cursed, "You never do things by halves, do you?"

"Well...it's...a...gift", the hurting Winchester choked out, once again panting, sweat running down his face.

"Lucky you. So, I guess there are some fractured ribs scratching your lungs, if you'd quit jumping around maybe we can get you outta here without further damage. But we have to get you to a hospital, Dean, you're in bad shape."

"That's been...the first point on...on my To-Do-list, you know?" Dean had managed to get his breathing under control and had laid his head back against the huge tree trunk. "So...where did you learn this whole...emergency room thing?"

"Guess who tended Seth and Jason after a hunt had gone to hell..." Patrick suddenly went quiet and lowered his gaze to the ground. When he looked up, his eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "Dean, what happened there?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "Jason...do...do you think he's really..."

Dean swallowed and searched for the right words. But what could he possibly say to make things right again? To give the boy some hope where no hope could be found? Jason was dead, he was sure of it. And he was sure Patrick knew it, too. He reached out for the young man's shoulder. „I'm sorry. You saw what happened", he said softly. He knew he couldn't take Patrick's pain away. Jason had been like a father to the kid, having to witness the death of a beloved person was horrible enough, having to witness what Patrick had to see – Dean was sure it would kill him to see Sam die like this. He was glad to know that his little brother was safe sitting in his own apartment in California, searching for new wallpapers.

Patrick nodded and sniffed before he forcefully wiped the tears from his face. "You know, I've had enough time to cry while marching through this goddamn forest. I'm not even sure if I'm able to cry anymore" With new found strength that made Dean's head spin he stood and scanned his surroundings. "It's almost dark, we should set up a fire and get settled for the night."

Stunned, but somehow relieved by Patrick's quick emotional recovery, Dean shifted in order to get up but was quickly stopped by a strong hand pushing him gently down with an alarming ease. "No no no, you stay put."

"Aw, come on, I'm not an invalid", Dean protested, scowling at his young companion.

"Yes, you are. Get some rest, I can take care of this." With that Patrick began to wander around and gathered everything useful for a fire.

Dean took a deep breath and mentally specified that the whole situation still sucked. Not only was he completely screwed with all his injuries, he had a bossy kid around him, too. And wasn't that just peachy. Frustrated he picked at the bandage and winced as he inspected the mess that once had been his shoulder.

"So", he started after he decided to not examine the wound any further, "what happened after I...well...took a swan dive down the cliff? What happened to Seth?"

"Man, I thought you were dead", Patrick sighed, by this time aligning some stones to a circle. "I saw this thing, whatever it was, attack you, I heard you scream and I couldn't reload my gun fast enough..." He paused, slamming one of the stones forcefully into the dirt. "After I've managed to load the damn thing I looked up in time to see you roll away from the bird, right towards the edge of the cliff."

"You called my name", Dean said softly, "I heard someone call my name."

"Yeah. Unfortunately this creature heard it too. The second I've shut my mouth this thing spied me and stomped in my direction. It...god, it happened so fast. It lifted off right in front of me and before I knew what hit me it had grabbed my shoulders."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, it just got a grip on my jacket ..." Patrick tugged at the tattered rag he was wearing and shrugged.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "That explains your homeless-style outfit."

"Anyway. It grabbed me and...flew away, with me dangling underneath. As if I were some nesting material or prey for his fledglings!"

"I bet you were", Dean murmured silently.

"It didn't fly very high above the woods so I took my chance as it overflew the first trees and used my knife to check if it's ticklish." He turned to look at Dean and smirked. "It is."

"So what, it dropped you? Just like that?"

"Yeah, suddenly I was falling. I landed in a treetop."

Dean couldn't help but laugh out loud at the image that popped up in his mind.

"It really was a bitch to get off this tree, I tell you that. But here I am." Patrick smiled and held his arms outstretched to his sides.

"What about Seth? Did you see what happened to him?" Dean went serious again and cradled his ribs.

"No, he just...vanished, I guess."

"Maybe he got away and was able to get help?"

"Yeah. Maybe." Patrick finished the stone circle and stood. He went quiet again and walked around, his eyes to the ground, his hands at his hips. Dean could see his jaw clench and unclench, could feel the tension in the young man. Still a kid. His demeanor might be brave and grown up, but deep inside Patrick was still a kid, with fears and panic everyone would feel in that situation.

"Pat?"

The younger hunter looked up, caught Dean's gaze with fearful brown eyes. "And what when he's dead, too? No one knows where we are." Patrick's voice was quivering.

"Ellen knows", Dean replied calmly, sensing the distress building up in the younger hunter. _And Sam knows_. _Not that this is much of help here. _

"Yes, Ellen", Patrick huffed, the fear replaced by anger, "but when will she notice that something's wrong, huh? Three days? Four?"

"Hey, Patrick..."

"I wonder what kills us first, the lack of food, the cold or this bird-thing..."

"Patrick..."

"...oh wait! Let's talk about the 'normal' animals living here, the cougar, I've heard of rattlers and what about the..."

"Patrick, stop it!" The holler that echoed through the small forest brought not just Patrick to silence. Dean groaned and fell back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes. _Okay, hollering is not a good idea either. _When the pain in his body abated to a tolerable throbbing again he felt someone grab his upper arms and shake him gently.

"Dean? God, I'm sorry", Patrick breathed, his voice a mixture of regret and anxiety, "Can you hear me? Come on, open your eyes. Dean?"

"It's okay", Dean croaked and managed to open his eyes. He grabbed the younger man at the back of his neck and pulled him closer, locked eyes with Patrick's big brown ones and tried to put as much determination in his next words as he could muster. "You have to keep cool, you hear me? Freaking out won't help us. Not you, not me. We will get out of here, okay? I promise. We will get out." He held Patrick's gaze a few seconds and let go, grimaced and shifted against the trunk.

"I know but...man, look at you..."

At that Dean frowned and made a face. "What? Girls always like what they see." His attempt to lighten up the mood was successful as he discovered a tiny smile on Patrick's lips.

"I'd never doubt that, but seriously..."

_Here we go. _ Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes for his head's sake and and sighed instead.

"...you need medical attention, your condition is going to get worse sooner or later and I won't be able to help you."

"I've been worse..."

"Hello? Are you listening? Dean..."

"I hear ya, Patrick, okay? But there's nothing we can do about it and I'm good for now." Dean yawned and took a breath. "Alright, let's think about the food-thing and let's catch us some Z's, I'm too tired to build up a plan."

Patrick nodded and lowered his head, fiddling with his hands. "What if it comes back?"

Dean looked at him, unsure how to answer. The thought of being injured, not being at his best and therefore being trapped without weapons or an idea how to kill this creature was a thought that had occurred Dean more than once during the last hours. After what he had witnessed the last time with their feathered friend he was sure that neither he nor Patrick could stand a chance against it, injured or not.

"It won't find us", Dean replied calmly, searching Patrick's eyes, searching for a sign that his confidence was enough for the two of them. "I don't think it can get us as long as we stay in the woods."

Patrick looked up at Dean, then further up to the treetops. "You're probably right", he whispered, before a small smile appeared on his face. "Imagine that big fat chicken with it's huge wings? I really like to see it get stuck between those branches."

"Yeah, and get a fir needle coating. Tasty."

The two men chuckled in unison before they went silent again. Dean watched Patrick now stifling a yawn of his own and with himself having more and more difficulties to stay awake, they would have to hurry up with their bonfire.

Patrick bit his lower lip and looked around. "Okay then. I saw some huckleberry bushes a few feet away from here. I'm going to see if I can get us a handful of them. You stay put, alright?" With that, Patrick stood and headed towards the brushes.

Dean nodded wearily, his eyes already closed. He wouldn't admit it to Patrick but he was beat. And in pain. The sitting position helped with his breathing but his shoulder and his throbbing ribs were a whole different story. He opened his eyes again and looked up to the sky through the treetops. Soon he would catch sight with some stars, it was getting dark pretty fast. _Suck it up, Winchester._

He took a deep breath and got up, swaying a bit at first. He steadied himself at the tree and as the forest stopped it's spinning he scuffled toward the undergrowth to gather some firewood. His mind drifted once more to Sam. Dean wondered if Sam was already in California by now and if he had already tried to call him. Sammy would possibly get worried when he'd discover that he wouldn't reach Dean's cell. He knew that his big brother's phone was never turned off. Then maybe his Spidey-senses would kick in full force, he'd call Ellen and ask for any signs or news from the glorious hunting team. And if Ellen wouldn't reach neither Dean nor Jason Dean was sure her alarm would set off immediately.

Help would come, for that Dean was sure. But if it'd come in time, that was another question.

As Patrick stepped out of the brushes, his jacket folded like a bag and full of small berries, Dean sat hunched over the neatly built heap of firewood, patting his pockets. As he spotted the younger man he smiled, which was returned by Patrick.

"Ta-da!" Dean sang, his outstretched hands presenting the fireplace.

"Why did I know you wouldn't stay put", Patrick chuckled as he dropped his makeshift berry-bag gently beside Dean. "See what I got."

Dean raised his brows and shrugged. "I guess you didn't find a proper diner or at least a cheeseburger-tree, huh?"

"I'm very sorry." Patrick nodded his chin to the heap of wood. "So, how are your boyscout qualities? Any flintstone or creating-fire-with-two-twigs experiences?"

Again he was rewarded with a shit-eating grin from Dean. "Not necessary", he stated and pulled a lighter out of his jacket. Both men chuckled once again and started the fire.

* * *

The hunters had finished their berry meal and were now sitting cross-legged by the crackling fire, both of them staring into the flames, each man dwelling on his own thoughts. The crackling of the fire was accompanied by the slow-paced hooting of an owl an the ever present rushing of water.

Dean had given up to open his eyes wider then half-mast. Despite the sweat he could feel linger on his face he shivered, his whole body wavering slightly. Watching the fire made him dizzy and he wanted nothing more then to close his eyes and just drop off into oblivion. He felt like crap, crappier then crap, he was so tired. But he couldn't let his guard down.

"Dean?"

"Hmmm?" A low murmur escaped Dean's lips and he looked up. _Dude, when did your hair grow so long? _

"Come on, get some sleep." _Sounds great._

"Can't." _Was that my voice? Geez..._

"Why not?"

"Have to stay awake...keep watch."

"I'm going to keep watch, okay? I'm not tired anyway. Come on, it's okay." _Huh. Alright._

Dean felt himself being pushed sideways and he didn't fight it. He couldn't bite back the grunt of pain that escaped him, but for that moment he didn't care. He rested his head on a moss-covered spot on the ground, already half asleep.

"Thanks Sammy."

He didn't care about the sharp intake of breath he heard next to him. Didn't care about the long pause. He also didn't care about the "Dean...I...I'm not..." that was stammered beside him.

"Shhhh...it's okay...'s 'kay", he mumbled sleepily, drifting away into a fever-induced slumber, his now again labored breathing evening out.

* * *

In one fluid movement a strong hand grabbed his wrist and pushed it down quickly so that the beam of the flashlight illuminated the shingle while a second hand on his chest stopped him in his tracks.

Sam was torn out of his thoughts and found himself shoulder to shoulder with Hel, who had his flashlight turned off and was staring straight ahead into the darkness. When he turned his Maglite off, too, he heard it.

A splashing combined with a croaking, like someone or something wading through the water. Like an animal.

Like a large bird.

He narrowed his eyes and let them drift along the river. Thanks to the half moon and the pale light it provided he was able to make out the huge shape.

"Look who popped in", Hel whispered and the two men sunk in a low crouch, making themselves as small as possible, watching their enemy closely.

The Thunderbird stood with both feet in the river, it's head just mere inches above the water surface, observing the current. From time to time it let out a muffled croak through the closed beak.

"This thing is giving me the creeps", Sam whispered.

"Tell me about it", Hel answered , "It's damn big. I knew it would be big but this is ridiculous."

Suddenly the bird's head plunged into the water only to be yanked out seconds later with a huge fish flouncing in the vulture's beak. It raised it's head and swallowed it's slippery prey with two convulsive gulps.

"What now? How can we kill it?" Sam swallowed hard. They hadn't thought about that. How could they have just forgotten about finding a way to kill this damn thing?

"I'm not sure, there are different stories but like I said, no one had ever been able to kill a Thunderbird, so we can only try and see what'll work."

"Fantastic."

"Yeah, I know."

"Alright", Sam let his bag slide from his shoulder and searched for the machete and the shotgun, "Bullets won't work, right? The way I see it, we have two options. Number one, we could lie still and hope it won't see us. Number two, we can go out there with guns blazing and see what knocks it out." _Damn, Dean, for this statement you'd be proud of me._

"I cast a vote for option two." Hel glared with determination at the young Winchester who had a similar look on his face.

"Okay. Weapons?"

"They say that beheading or burning are the most effective ways to kill a Thunderbird."

Sam nodded and started to rise as Hel grabbed his arm. "Wait. You're a young man, you sure have a Walkman or a MP3-player, right?"

"What? Uh...yes, I do but..."

"Good." With that, Hel grabbed his own bag and pulled a small black device with earphones out. He plugged them into his ears and grinned. "That thing over there might be big and bad, but we have the new technology."

Sam couldn't suppress a smirk as he figured Hel's plan out. "The old Odysseus trick, huh?" He rummaged through his duffel and found what he was looking for. He stuffed his own MP3-player into his jeans and placed the earphones.

"Are you familiar with military hand signals? Just in case..." Hel asked. He had pulled two torches out of his huge bag and prepared them by soaking them with gasoline from a small metal canister.

"Dad's been a marine, so the answer's yes."

Hel nodded and handed one of the torches to Sam. Then he pulled a crossbow and arrows out of his bag, their heads wrapped in fabric, which received the same treatment as the torches. He loaded the crossbow with one of the arrows and stuffed the remaining ones into his right knee-height pocket. He looked somberly at Sam.

"Alright. Let's get this done, Sam."

Both men got on their knees and crouched towards the river where the Thunderbird was still occupied getting some fishy snacks, each one of them equipped with his weapon of choice and earphones.

**

* * *

To be continued...**


	7. Chapter 7

**Good evening. Yeah, I know, you're wondering what I'm doing here, it's Saturday, I'm a bit early. But as my baby son celebrates his first birthday tomorrow and I have to tame the family rolling in and don't know if I manage to turn my computer on, I thought I'd post tonight.**

**Once again a virtual monster hug to my Honeypie...you're the reason I wrote so far and am still writing. It's a gift to know you, sweetums!  
**

**Okay, ready for some action? Enjoy!!  
**

**Chapter 07**

The big vulture-like creature was still oblivious to the two figures crawling towards it. The big fish it had as an appetizer didn't seem to be satisfactory so it had gone back to it's hovering position mere inches above the water.

Hel and Sam had stopped a few feet from the shore and were now kneeling in a low crouch behind some large boulders. Hel plugged his torch upright into the ground and brought a yet closed Zippo near the gasoline-drenched tip. With his crossbow in front of him he glanced at Sam who had his own torch at ready in his left and the machete in his right.

"Ready, Sam?" Hel whispered, barely audible over the rushing water.

"Ready", Sam answered and the two men reached simultaneously to their pant pockets, pressing the play-buttons of their MP3-players. They nodded at each other and rose. Hel opened the lighter and ignited the torch that was plugged in the gravel before he swung the arrow inserted in the crossbow through the blaze in a graceful motion. He raised the weapon and released the burning arrow towards the feathered enemy.

The big bird's head shot up in time to watch as the burning arrow shot in it's direction and imbedded itself into the animal's back. The Thunderbird let out an angry shriek, it raised to it's full height and spread it's wings. It tried to snatch the disturbing object with it's beak by throwing it's head back over and over, emitting a variety of noises proving complete displeasure. Within seconds the air was filled with the smell of burning feathers.

Sam and Hel jumped out of their hide-outs, Hel staying close to his torch on the ground and inflaming another arrow, sending it into the Thunderbird's body. Sam used the bird's surprise and quickly approached the writhing creature, his machete in a vice-like grip.

The Thunderbird let out an earsplitting screech, flapping with his giant wings, enraged by the unexpected assault. But thanks to the music blaring out of the earphones both hunters were wearing, the noise failed it's point of paralyzing the human attackers.

While the animal was distracted by Hel's attempt to set the creature's ptilosis on fire, Sam was able to get near it. He had to clench his jaw against the cold of the water, which was crawling along his skin the moment he entered the river. Although it wasn't deep at this point, the water still reached up to Sam's tights. Biting back the shivers, he gripped the machete with both hands – a few more steps and he would be able to reach the thing's neck and hopefully finish it off.

He wasn't prepared for the force that slammed into him from behind, sending him face first into the freezing water.

Stunned by the sudden turn of events and the fact that he was now with his face under water, Sam lost his grip on the machete. He quickly tried to stem himself up and out of the current again with both hands. But the second he broke the surface and managed to take a breath something heavy landed on his upper back and pressed him down again. In an instant he felt something sharp piercing his skin.

_Damnit, what the hell...!_

Sam struggled to get rid of the heavy whatever that was pressing him into the water, his fingers digging into the gravely bottom of the river, every movement devouring the precious oxygen he was desperately holding in his lungs.

* * *

From his position at the riverside Hel had witnessed the Thunderbird knocking Sam over with one of it's wings and putting one of it's feet on the younger hunter to keep him from emerging the frigid water.

"SAM!!" he screamed and for a few seconds he was unable to move.

The bird shot Hel a look as if to challenge him. It cocked it's head and just glared at the elder man, his wings at it's sides, one foot casually on Sam's struggling form. It was standing completely still.

Freeing himself from his stupor, Hel grabbed one of his arrows and quickly took the gasoline soaked fabric off, revealing the sharp tip. He put the arrow in his crossbow, took a deep breath and aimed at the creature.

"Hold on, Sam. Just a few seconds more. I'm working on it", he mumbled, steadying himself for a clean shot.

Precious time went by, Sam's struggles getting weaker, the giant bird observing the threat at the riverside, Hel taking his time to calm down as much as possible to make the shot count. He was standing motionless, his crossbow aimed, eyes narrowed, breathing deep.

Suddenly the Thunderbird opened his beak, let out a deafening shriek and flapped his mighty wings in order to attack Hel. As it lurched towards him, Hel released the arrow and jumped quickly to the side, rolling over the gravel and coming to a halt on his hands and knees. The arrow whooshed through the air and hit the animal's right eye.

The scream that elicited from the bird was nearly impossible to bear. It was a combination of every sound in the world that caused the hair on your neck to stand, gave you gooseflesh, made you want to fall deaf immediately. It was a hollering, a thundering, a screaming of thousands of humans in sheer terror and pain.

And it was the moment Hel noticed that his earphones had fallen out.

His cry of pain accompanied the terrible sound coming from the Thunderbird, while he tried to roll himself into a ball, slammed his hands over his ears and pushed his head to the ground in an futile attempt to block out the noise. Hel clenched his teeth together and looked up, witnessing the bird's struggle with it's injury. It was swaying slightly, stepping backwards, shaking it's head wildly, his wings spread to it's sides, the arrow still sticking firmly in place.

As Hel found himself on the brink of consciousness, the bird's angry screams minimized to dazed croaks. It flapped it's wings again and rose to the air, strong strokes of the wings carrying it toward the mountains. Suddenly everything was quiet again, expect for the rushing of the river. Hel swallowed a couple of times, shaking his own head as well. Slowly he sat up, still trying to focus his eyes. Then it hit him.

"Sam!"

He got up as fast as he was able to and raced to the river, stumbling a few times before he reached the shore and the point where he had seen Sam the last time.

"Sam! Where are you, kiddo? Answer me!" Hel shouted, his eyes roaming over the water surface, but finding nothing.

* * *

Both men startled awake as the familiar sound crept through the woods.

"Oh god, it's here...", Patrick choked out, leaving his place at a fallen tree trunk and scrambling over to Dean, who blinked wildly, his mind trying to catch up with his current situation and the screeching noise roaring in his head. Even miles away the scream of the Thunderbird brought Patrick's and Dean's bodies to shut down, the paralyzing impact not as strong, but still palpable. Patrick fell on his stomach, his arms suddenly not able to hold his weight anymore while Dean stayed the way he had woken up, flat on his back. Both hunters hissed as the nasty voice of their enemy brought their ears to ring.

As suddenly as it had come, the screeching disappeared and the woods went still again. Really still. Not a single forester could be heard. The only audible sound was the rushing of the Snake River as it carved it's way through the forest.

Dean grunted in pain as he tried to sit up against the tree trunk that was his second new friend since the last evening. He opened his eyes to slits and glanced over to his first new friend, lying on the forest ground, coughing and moaning.

"Patrick? You okay?"

"Think so. Just not in the mood to move right now...give me a second..."

Dean let his head fall back and panted, trying to breathe through the pain caused by his throbbing shoulder and screaming ribs. He felt nauseous and sick. Man, he was everything he didn't want to be in a situation like this. He was freezing, but at the same time hot to the touch, drenched in cold sweat. Every time the fabric of his jacket touched the wound on his shoulder, he'd preferably slam his fist on the ground, just to prevent himself from crying out. It was getting harder to breathe and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing that he had this coppery taste in his mouth every now and then.

Patrick raised his head first before he got to his knees and hauled himself over to the elder Winchester. He sat beside him and mirrored Dean's posture by letting his head fall back against the tree trunk as well. The flames were still crackling weakly which meant that Dean hadn't slept very long or Patrick hadn't slept at all and had taken care of the fire until he, too, had given in to exhaustion. To have no sense of time sucked out loud.

Both men sat in silence for a few minutes before the younger hunter started to speak.

"So, no dream, huh?"

"What do you mean?" Dean rasped with a husky voice, watching the sparks flying up.

"We're still here. I hoped everything might have been a bad dream. But we're still sitting in this damn wood with a big ugly bird on our asses. No cell phones, no civilization at all, you being a wreck and no one knowing where to find us."

"Thanks for the reminder, Pat, way to ruin that lovely night."

Patrick snorted, but went serious again immediately, turning his head and scrutinizing Dean.

"How are you feeling?"

"M'fine."

Again, Patrick wasn't able to hold back a snort, "Yeah, right."

Dean glared at the young hunter beside him and replied tired, but angry: "What do you want to hear? Huh? That I'm feeling like crap, that everything hurts, that I'm starving and in the need for a drink, best with the power to knock me out, that I'm not sure how long I'm going to last? You wanna hear that?"

Patrick flinched and stared at Dean with bis brown eyes. Then he quickly lowered his gaze to the ground, murmuring a slight sorry and fidgeting with his fingers. Dean sighed and let his gaze wander through the darkness.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he started softly, "I'm hurting and I'm pissed. Normally my brother would take the brunt of my bad mood, but now that you're here, you have to take his place, I guess." The last words were accompanied by a smirk towards Patrick, who looked up and gave a slight smile in return.

"So, what do we do?" he asked in a small voice, seeking for advice from the experienced hunter at his side.

"We get our asses up and walk on. There has to be some camp ground or a ranger station, anything."

"You sure you're up for this?"

Dean took a deep breath and watched the sky again. "Seems like I don't have a choice. I definitely don't want to stay here." With that he pushed himself to his feet, swayed a bit before he managed to get a grip and patted the dirt off his formerly black jacket. "You coming? Let's see if we can find some more of those nice little bushes you did manage to harvest last evening."

Dean felt Patrick's eyes on him when he walked away, unsteady and wavering, his feet dragging slightly over the forest soil before the kid, too, stood and quickly caught up with him. They went over to the riverside and cleaned themselves up a bit, taking huge sips of the clear and refreshing water, preparing for the upcoming march.

The water caused Dean to gasp as it came in contact with his hot skin and helped nothing with his freezing beside of making his teeth chatter, which he tried to stifle in vain. He glanced over to Patrick who was engrossed in working his hair into a ponytail. Once again Dean had to smile at the sight, being glad that he hadn't the problem of handling some unruly wisps on his head. But his smile fell as he thought about his own current state, knowing that if he wouldn't be able to hold himself up and show his strong and confident side, the kid would soon lose all his hope.

_I'll get you outta here, kiddo, _Dean thought, _And if it's the last thing I do, you'll get out._

* * *

Dawn was breaking. Finally. A thick grey blanket of clouds. It was the first thing Sam noticed as he opened his eyes, his wet lashes glueing together. The second thing he noticed was that he was _freakin' wet and freezing and that he had swallowed too much water_!

With a sharp intake of breath he sat up and started to cough his lungs lout, getting rid of the water that was inhabiting his nose and throat. When the coughing finally subsided, Sam stroked his hair back and looked around, trying to remember what had happened. He was "stranded" on what looked like a sand bar, his clothes soaked, clinging to him and constricting his movements. His teeth began to clatter instantly, reminding him that he should get his ass out of the water ASAP and find a way to get himself dry and warm. The young hunter got on his hands and knees, struggling to get up but having his difficulties because of his numb muscles, stiff from lying in the cold river for too long.

_Good job, Sam!_ he scolded himself and slammed a fist into the sand, _You were supposed to get rid of that damn thing, not to get yourself and Hel killed. _

Sam paled immediately, _Oh, God, Hel! Nonono..._

He got up quickly and whirled around, trying to assess the distance he had been carried off from the point they had attacked the Thunderbird. It was then when he heard a faint voice calling his name.

Recognizing the voice and more then glad to hear it, Sam's face lit up and he stumbled towards the direction it was coming from.

"Hel!" he bellowed, "Hel! Over here!"

After what felt like a lifetime of shouting Sam's name, Hel nearly missed the answer he got. It was a long way off, but it was there. Sam had heard and answered him, he was alive. With a sigh of relief and a smile Hel quickened his pace and jogged along the river, following it downstream.

"M'coming, Sam! Stay where you are!" he shouted back and ran as fast as he could while carrying Sam's and his bags. When he followed a bend of the river and caught sight of the tall hunter coming towards him, seemingly unharmed, Hel slowed down and began to laugh, a hearty and relieved laughter that caused Sam to smile. The two men met and after he had dropped the bags Hel grabbed the young Winchester in a tight embrace, still laughing.

"Kiddo, you look like a wet rag!" he laughed, "But I've never been so happy to see a wet rag as I am now! It's good to see you!"

"Good t...to see y...yo...u, too", Sam stammered back, his voice muffled by Hel's shoulder. Man, he was cold. It felt like every muscle, every sinew was shivering and he wasn't able to control his movements. Hel released Sam, took his jacket off and wrapped it around the shivering man. He then grabbed his shoulders with both hands, scrutinizing Sam's face and becoming serious.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Hel asked, still seeking for any injuries.

"M' go...good, just c...old."

"Okay, sit down under the trees over there, get out of your wet clothes, I'm going to get a fire started", Hel commanded, stepping away, "Check my bag, I might have a blanket in there. And some clothes, too."

"Hel, n...no, we have...have t...to go on, s...search for D...Dean..."

Hel stopped and looked back at Sam, sighing. "I know, Sam, but you're not able to go on with pneumonia so I suggest we take the time, you get changed and warmed up first, okay?"

With that Hel turned and gathered some roots and branches, while Sam cursed and dug into Hel's bag. He pulled out a woolen blanket and a pair of cargo pants plus a shirt. He then peeled the cold and stiff clothing off his skin with shaking hands, wrapped himself into the scratchy thing and stared at the horizon. Though it was an area of great scenic beauty Sam wasn't able to enjoy it just one single second. They hadn't been able to kill the Thunderbird, so it seemed at least. They weren't one step closer to Dean, or where they thought Dean might be. This was taking way too long, he knew Dean was hurt, maybe dying somewhere out there and he was complaining about some wet shirts and clattering teeth. Hell, they weren't even sure wether they were heading to the right direction. What if Dean had gone upstream? Was he following the river at all?

Completely absorbed in his thoughts, Sam jumped when Hel dropped an armful of wood in front of him. The young hunter watched as he went down on his knees and arranged the branches and twigs to a proper fireplace. Hel stepped to his bag and pulled a lighter and some maps out, took a look at them, put three of the maps back into his bag again and tore one into pieces. At Sam's raised eyebrows he just shrugged.

"Yellowstone National Park. Been there already plus the map's about ten years old. So, no loss."

After he had decorated his wood arrangement with the crumpled up pieces of the Yellowstone map and had ignited the fire, Hel sat down beside Sam. Both men stared into the dancing flames for what felt like ages, wolfing down some sandwiches they had taken with them.

"New Kid In Town", Hel stated, mouth full, his eyes not leaving the fire.

Sam looked up, "Come again?"

"The Eagles. New Kid In Town. That's what I heard before my earplugs fell out."

He looked at Sam and broke into a grin. "And holy mother, that had been a more pleasant tune than the hue and cry this bird had warbled."

With a slight smile on his own, Sam went back to his staring into the fire. "I hear you", he replied softly. "So, that was a bust, huh?"

"Well, the burning arrows did their job, but they've been more like a drop in the bucket I guess. I swear, Sam, when I saw that thing push you under the water I thought that was it."

Sam nodded and shuddered at the thought of what had happened a few hours ago. The feeling of utter helplessness, his lungs screaming for air and the absolute panic of drowning, accompanied by the numbing feeling the ice cold water had brought to him. And just when he had decided to give up, to let the water in, to let it all end, the pressure on his back had suddenly vanished. He had felt the sensation of being dragged away by the current, his limbs hitting rocks and touching sand under the water, his head being able to burst through the surface, him taking precious air with countless gasps. Reaching solid ground with all his might and falling into oblivion.

"What happened? Why did it just disappear?" Sam asked with a raspy voice, shaking himself mentally.

Hel took another bite from his sandwich, "Got one of it's eyes. So it decided to bail on me."

The young Winchester nodded and took a deep breath. "So it's still out there and still dangerous. Plus it's probably pissed now with a capital P", he stated dryly before he got up, let the blanket drop and grabbed the dry clothes. "I need to find my brother. Now."

Hel watched the young man gather his belongings and get dressed before he, too, got up with a sigh and kicked sand and gravel over the flames of the bonfire. He would have recommended to Sam to rest a bit more and take it slow. Still he admired the kid for his concern and fear for his big brother, for his determination to find Dean at all cost, no matter what.

The hunters geared up for another march downstream, Sam leading the way with Hel watching their backs, always having one eye and ear towards the sky in case an angry oversized bird might be in the mood for some revenge.

**To be continued...**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey folks!**

**You see that figure standing there, grinning like a lunatic and waving at you? That's me how I look when I'm happy about reviews! Thank you very much for your kind words, that's sooooo fantastic. **

**The following chapter is one of my favourites, it was nice to write and I hope nice to read as well.**

**Once again, Superntaural doesn't belong to me, Sam and Dean are from Kripke's sandbox, I just have some fun with them. **

**Enjoy!!**

**Chapter 08**

As if the whole situation wasn't already fucked up enough, it had started to rain. Not the friendly drizzle you're able to ignore as it just moistens your skin and hair. No, Dean and Patrick were sloshing through the mud where the canopy of the trees wasn't dense enough to keep the thick, heavy raindrops off the forest floor. Raindrops that made you think that you got shelled with little balls. To crown it all the temperature had dropped and it was cold enough to make you see your breath puff out in little white clouds.

The two men had made their way through the undergrowth at a smart pace at first with Dean taking the lead, but after about three hours of marching hard his tired and injured body had made itself felt and he had to slow down in order to stay upright and being able to go on altogether.

Dean knew he was getting worse. The nearly unbearable throbbing of his shoulder had merged into an alarming numbness. The resulting fever had risen, he was shivering to the bones, he felt sick and nauseous. His skin was so hot he was sure he could hear the raindrops sizzle when they landed on his face. Plus it was getting harder and harder to breathe, his chest aching with searing pain whenever Dean dared to take a too deep breath.

About thirty minutes ago Dean had stopped taking in his surroundings and just concentrated on Patrick's ponytail as he followed the now leading younger hunter through the watery sludge. He blinked heavily to keep the blackness at bay that was constantly crawling into his vision, never leaving the soaked bunch of hair out of sight.

_Funny how the hair clings to his back,_ he thought, _it's like a burdock. A big one. And it's changing it's shape, look at that! Whenever Pat's turning his head. Now it's a bird-burdock. Or maybe the-man-in-the-moon-burdock? Huh, Dean, I think you should take a break, you're hallucinating here. Wait, Patrick? Where are you? Where have you gone?_

"...e...ean!...up!...pen...y...s!"

_Huh. Why is it night? Bedtime already? Stop shouting, Sammy..._

"...me on...Please...pen...r...eyes! Open you...eyes!"

_Open my eyes? My eyes are closed? When did that happen?_

"Dean! Come on, man, say something! Dean!"

Dean opened his eyes with a sharp intake of breath, which was followed by a coughing fit that made him want to drop dead immediately and he squeezed them shut again in an instant. _Bad idea_, he thought, trying to get his rebelling lungs under control. He felt as his upper body was lifted and his head and back were suddenly leaning against something warm and solid, reassuring hands holding him up. Through his coughing and the pain he could hear Patrick's voice near his ear, trying to soothe him.

"Easy. Easy, Dean. Shhhh, it's okay", Patrick whispered, and through his haze Dean noticed that the younger hunter was way beyond calm, trying to get his own panic in check.

After five agonizing minutes of convulsing coughing and gasping for air, the fit subsided and Dean was able to take a few shallow breaths, which were accompanied by a wheezing and the strong taste of blood. He opened his eyes once again, this time not bothering with lifting his heavy lids the whole way up and gazed into space with eyes on half mast. He lay there, unmoving, expect of the rising and falling of his chest, and pondered over the raindrops falling on his skin and clothes, too tired and too exhausted to even think.

"Dean?"

It was Patrick's soft and uncertain voice sounding in his right ear that pulled him out of his stupor. Dean blinked a few times and grunted before he tried to sit up, failing miserably.

"No, Dean, no, take it easy, I've gotcha."

It was then that Dean realized that his upper body was indeed leaning against Patrick's chest, but the rest of him was wallowing in the thick and cold mud; his formerly blue jeans now heavy with sludge, his boots half dug in. He felt Patrick tense as he groaned.

"What? What's wrong? Dean? Talk to me, man!"

"Bad idea...to take a nap right here, huh?", Dean rasped, weakly trying to wiggle out of Patrick's grip. "M'okay, you...can let go."

"Sure you are", Patrick mumbled and looked around in search for something that was able to shelter them from the harsh rain. This time, good fortune seemed to be with them as he spotted a small rock formation with a ledge ideally suited for the two of them to take cover.

Patrick climbed slowly out behind the elder Winchester, still holding Dean upright, making sure he wouldn't tip backwards, what definitely would have happened without Patrick's steady arms.

"Okay, let's take a walk", he mumbled and laid one of Dean's arms around his neck over his shoulders, the other holding his waist, fingers hooking into the belt loops of Dean's jeans and pulling him gently up. The movement caused Dean to hiss and swear like a trooper, but after some strenuous steps with Dean scolding and Patrick mumbling apologies and reassurances the staggering duo reached their destination.

Dean felt himself eased down on the ground, that had thankfully stayed dry under the ledge, his back against the scarp. He was able to hold himself upright and with weary eyes he watched Patrick kneel down before him and trying assess his condition.

"You with me?" he asked and Dean couldn't help but notice the nervous quality to his voice.

"Pat, 'm good. Really, we should keep going." Actually he'd intended to sound confident and strong – the hoarse noise that slurred from his lips didn't help. And from the way Patrick raised his eyebrows and gave him the _You're completely nuts!_ look he doubted that he looked anything in the neighborhood of confident and strong.

Without preamble Patrick started to ran his hands over Dean's forehead and cheeks, picking at the bandaged shoulder before he examined Dean's busted ribs. The older Winchester was too tired and exhausted to voice his protest. He knew that he was screwed, that he didn't have a clue how to take even one more step let alone get up on his feet again, now that he was sitting on his ass.

"Oh man", he heard Patrick sigh, who was still kneeling in front of him, his hands eventually resting on his thighs.

"And?" Dean rasped and squinted at the younger man, not sure why he was asking when he already knew what the answer would be.

"If you'd be a horse I would shoot you."

"Huh."

"Yeah, huh."

Once again the hunters fell silent and pondered on their gridlock and how to escape this mess. The copious shower of rain combined with the cold and the oppressively drab and grey the woods had taken on went nicely to their desperate situation. Like a hideous picture frame to an ugly picture. The matching sounds came from Dean himself while he either hacked his lungs out or rattled his breath in and out.

The older Winchester shifted uncomfortably, no quite happy with Patrick sitting right in front of him like a watchdog. But no matter which way he moved, he was hurting everywhere. He could still use a drink.

Suddenly Patrick's expression changed from hopeless to resolute and he got up, searching the ground. Dean watched him for a few moments, frowning.

"What are you up to?" he asked wearily, observing the events in and in front of their shelter.

"I'm gathering construction material...", Patrick answered excitedly, never stopping his actions, "I'm going to build a stretcher for you!"

Dean's eyebrows flew up, "What?"

"You won't walk out of here. So I'm going to pull you. You can lie on the stretcher and I'm going to pull you until we find help."

While Patrick continued his quest and gathered twigs and branches, Dean just stared at him in disbelief. He had to admit that he had underestimated the boy. First he had staked his head to escape that creature by making it drop him from dizzy height, then he proved himself able as a doctor and now he turned out to be a junior MacGyver by building a stretcher out of undergrowth. But still...

"Pat, let it go."

Dean could have told a child that Santa Clause was a hoax, he would have gotten the same reaction from it. Patrick stopped dead and stared at his injured companion, his jaw dropping.

"What...what do you mean, 'Let it go'?" he asked, frowning at Dean.

"I mean it like I said it", Dean replied calmly and shifted again, flinching when the movement caused a painful twinge in his chest. "Listen Patrick, I appreciate this, I really do. But I won't let you pull my sorry ass through the scenery. You're exhausted, too and believe me, I don't think we're any faster that way."

"But Dean...you need help. Jesus Christ, you're a mess. Did you check you're shoulder lately? Surely you've noticed the fever? And the fact that you've passed out earlier? Oh and let's not forget the way you're sounding like a rusty steam engine. You're coughing up blood, which is a sure fire sign of a pierced lung, maybe both. How long do you think you can go on?" Patrick threw his hands in the air and began to pace, shaking his head like a lunatic.

"Drama queen...", Dean muttered before he fell into another fit of coughing that brought some more blood to his lips. Patrick stopped and watched Dean with a mixture of concern and anger.

"So what? You wanna walk? Is that it?" he asked defiantly and took a step back, "Fine, walk. Get up and let's go then." With that he put his hands on his hips and looked at the older Winchester expectantly.

Despite his condition Dean couldn't help but smile weakly at the sight. If he wouldn't know better he could swear that his Sammy had bought himself a wig, was wearing a mask and was standing right in front of him, giving him a hard time because of his obstinacy and pride. Noticing the dark clouds above Patrick's head turn even darker due to his smirking, Dean sighed. "No, I won't walk, either. I'm going to stay here."

"The hell you're going to..."

"Listen Pat, whatever you're going to say, keep it to yourself, alright? I won't walk anywhere and you won't pull me anywhere. So the way I see it, our only possibility then is that I'm going to stay here and you go and get help."

The hunters locked eyes with each other. Green eyes, glassy but sparkling with resolve, met brown ones, partly desperate, partly incredulous.

"No. No, Dean. I'm not going to leave you here..."

"Oh yes, you will."

"Dean..."

"End of conversation."

And just as Dean braced himself to jump head first into another argument Patrick indeed kept his mouth shut. The younger hunter nodded sadly and seemed to inspect the ground. For a few minutes neither man said a word.

"I'm going to be okay." It was Dean who broke the silence. He knew that Patrick didn't want to leave him behind for two reasons. On one hand, he feared that he might come back to a corpse, that Dean would not survive his injuries or the cold or some hungry wild animal. Maybe all three combined. But on the other hand, Patrick was afraid to go out there alone. Fight his way through that damned park on his own with no guide and no one to spur him on.

No hunter wanted to walk alone. And nobody knew that better than Dean Winchester. He remembered all too well all the times he had to fight alone, left not only from his brother than from his father too. And it hurt like a bitch thinking that he might be forced to do this for the rest of his sucking life.

With a soft voice he added, "And you're going to be okay, too."

Patrick looked up and sniffed before he angrily wiped at his eyes. "You're gonna need food and water. I'll get you some supplies and get a fire starting", he stated, turned on his heel and trudged away through the undergrowth.

Dean let out a tired sigh and let his head fall back against the rock, eyelids weighing several tons sliding shut. _Great idea, genius._ Truth to be told, he wasn't sure if this was one of his brightest ideas he ever had. Neither Patrick nor him knew how far they were in the woods or how long it would take to find help. Dean's hand went down to his boot where his knife rested in it's sheath. It would be his only weapon against whatever lurked out there. He could only hope that he could keep what was left of his strength and shape up long enough. And wouldn't it be hilarious if he'd get eaten up by some grizzly because he was too weak to use his knife?

Right now, he was glad he didn't need to do anything. He still felt like shit. Or worse. That rattling in his chest was beginning to seriously piss him off and he'd really appreciate it if he'd be able to get more air into his lungs. Just a tiny bit more.

Dean lost track of time while he sat there with his eyes closed, trying to get precious air into him. His thoughts went to Sam and he wondered of he'd be able to see his little brother ever again. And he had to chuckle once more about the similarity of Patrick and Sam.

"What's so funny?" a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts and Dean opened red-rimmed eyes to a fully loaded Patrick standing in front of him.

"Nothin'. Just had to think about someone...", Dean shifted again and coughed some more.

"You okay?" The younger man put his cargo on the ground and crouched low in front of him.

"Yes, I'm fine, Pat. Geez, you've been gone for what, five minutes? Not much enough time to die..."

"I was gone for an hour, Dean."

At that Dean looked up, "Oh", he breathed.

Patrick sighed and sat down beside Dean. Both men were staring on the ground a few feet away. "Come on, we don't have to do this." He paused and bit his bottom lip. "Maybe there's another option, we..."

"Patrick, please", Dean rasped, for a second startled by the weak quality of his normally deep and husky voice, "It is our only option. You said it for yourself, I'm a horse ready for the slaughterer..."

"Aw, that was just a phrase..."

"Yeah, right, but you wanna know what? I feel like it, too. I don't want to take one more step and I don't think I can." Wincing because of his naked honesty Dean cleared his throat. Under normal circumstances and with Sam around he would insist on being fine and great and 'Hey, it's just a scratch!', but Patrick needed the truth. He needed a reason to do whatever he could to get them out. Both of them. "Plus, I'm a millstone around your neck and I hate being a millstone around anyone's neck, so...."

Patrick let out a soft snort and as Dean lowered his head a bit and glanced at his face he spotted a tiny smile ghosting over the younger man's lips. He gave a smirk in return and after a small pause surveyed the heap of branches, twigs and something he recognized as Patrick's jacket bunched up and filled with something in front of his feet.

"Okay. Now that we see eye to eye what do I get for lunch?"

The long-haired hunter sniffed once again and looked Dean in the eyes. "You're a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that, right?"

Dean's smirk went a bit bigger. "So it's been told."

* * *

The trees weren't able to shelter them from the rain that was pouring down on the two hunters since dawn had broken. Hel and Sam had reached the woods about an hour ago and continued their way along the Snake river, both men soaked and sparing with words.

Sam was brooding over the fact that he was wet and cold for the second time since he had began the search for his lost brother. He was sick with worry, again. Or still. If the injuries wouldn't finish Dean off, which he didn't know how extensive they were, the weather surely would. But on the other hand Dean might have been forced to stop his walk, was taking shelter in a cave or something and they would run across him any moment.

If he had taken the way downstream. With a big fat IF.

The possibility of Hel and him marching into the wrong direction was still given and it got Sam a sinking feeling.

An innocent stone to his feet got to feel Sam's desperation when it was kicked away hard. That the hissed "Damn!" from his mouth brought Hel to look back over his shoulder didn't bother the younger Winchester. He tried to collect his thoughts.

If he only wouldn't have let Dean go on this hunt. With some hunters neither he nor his brother even knew. They had trusted Ellen's intuition and had forgotten to check their own instincts. And it looked like he had let his brother go off with a bunch of yahoos, unable to have each others backs. One was dead as a doornail, the other one had fled like a sissy. The whereabouts of the third one were unknown but was sure that he was dead, too. Or was huddled behind a tree or stone and was waiting for help.

And why had Dean been so foolish to just go on a hunt like that? Virtually unprepared, the research been done by someone else than him or his younger brother? Probably because Dean wanted to give him a wipe, show him that he could carry on the job without his kid brother stuck at his side. Of course, Dean and his stupid pride. How selfish could one person be?

_Look who's talking..._

The sudden thought flashing through his mind let Sam froze in his steps for a second. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Wasn't he the trigger of this mess? Him and his selfish demand for freedom? With a shudder he walked on, trying to cope with the fact that he had somehow acted like John Winchester on his good days. He had left Dean. And there wasn't even a yellow-eyed demon to hunt. He was just running off into a hopefully rosy future. Geez, when did he become his father?

"Sam, check this out!" Hel's sudden call pulled the younger Winchester out of his dark thoughts and he followed his friend's brisk steps to a tiny moss-grown clearing. At first there was nothing to see in particular but when Sam came closer he recognized the round dark shape on the ground as the remnants of a bonfire. His heart made a jump at the sight.

"How long do you think the fire's out ?" he asked excitedly and knelt down beside Hel who had gone into a crouch and poked through the ash and burned twigs with his pocket knife.

"Can't tell. The rain did it's job, there're no embers left. The fire might be out for ten minutes or ten hours."

"Okay", Sam whispered hopeful and stood, "At least we know that we're on the right track." He began to pace off the small clearing, his eyes roaming over the ground and bushes. Hel folded his knife and put it back into his jacket before he, too, stood and scouted around.

The ray of hope gave Sam a warm shiver and helped him ignore the cold that was seeping through his bones. They were on the right way. And Dean had managed to get a fire going, which was another indicator that his condition might not be that bad.

When he glanced at Hel who was once again ready to walk on, a confident smile made his lips twitch.

* * *

Dean rolled the single huckleberry between his fingers with a disgusted sigh.

"I swear, when I get out of here I'm so going to steer clear of vegetable and fruit markets", he rasped before he let the dark blue berry fall into his mouth. At least the thing whitewashed the metallic taste on his tongue and helped a bit with his rumbling stomach. He didn't know where Patrick had gathered the huge amount of huckleberries, but here they where, the whole jacket stuffed with the little fruit, coloring the formerly light brown fabric with violet stains.

"You're going to celebrate your second birthday eating tons of them just to show your gratefulness", Patrick replied while he put some more wood on the fire he had just lit. The flames were illuminating the small cave-like rock formation and gave off a soothing heat. Dean could feel his teeth clattering already decrease. When Patrick got up and observed his deed, he had to crane his neck to watch the younger men's expression with his sitting position on the ground. Once again Dean couldn't hold his heavy head up and let it drop back against the wall.

"You ready?" he asked tiredly and glanced up with hooded eyes.

"I still think that this is a stupid plan", Patrick mumbled but began to gather up his belongings. He patted his pants and hesitantly pulled his slingshot out of his back pocket. After he inspected it for a few seconds he held it out to Dean.

"Here. You might need it."

Dean eyed the slingshot and raised his brows. "And you're going to defend yourself with what? Making funny faces? Come on, cut the crap."

With a frustrated sigh Patrick pulled his hand back and started fidgeting with the leather strap. "Okay then. I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Well", Dean announced and stretched his hand out which was gripped firmly in a friendly turn by his young friend. "take care, Patrick. See you soon."

Still gripping Dean's hand tight, Patrick looked at him with glistening eyes. "You really think I can do this, right?"

"Of course you can", Dean returned with an encouraging smile, loosened the handshake and leaned back. "I'm gonna wait here. Won't budge at all."

The younger hunter gave a sad smile in return. "I hope so. Just hold on, okay?"

A single, barely distinguishable nod from the man on the ground was his start signal. Patrick put the collar of his shirt up and after a deep breath he stepped out in the heavy rain. He turned right and was gone, the sounds of his steps swallowed by the rushing of the near river and the steady downpour.

Alone with the mesmerizing sounds of the water and the crackling of the fire Dean closed his eyes for a few seconds before they flew open again. Although he wanted nothing more then to just fall asleep, he knew that this was something he should deny himself. He shook his head, regretting it instantly as the marching band in his skull changed it's volume from piano to full blast. Wincing, he carefully sat upright and stared into the fire, watched as the flames danced, sparks erupted and the bright glow grew darker and darker until everything went black.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	9. Chapter 9

**Heja!**

**Not too much rambling from me here because I'm posting this AND need to have an eye on my son who's just occupied with emptying the contents of my chest of drawers under the desk and considering eating parts of my tax return...**

**So. I hope you folks like this chapter, it brings some old and new friends in!**

**As always: Honeypie, I love you! From tomorrow on it's your job to keep me sane in our looney bin ;-)**

**SPN belongs to Master Kripke and the CW! **cries****

**Chapter 09**

The chime of a cell phone was a foreign sound in the rough nature that was the Grand Teton National Park. Especially when it was a ring Sam never heard before. And as his cell phone had met it's maker during his little swimming session in the river and he was sure this wasn't his Sam watched while Hel slowed his steps and pulled his own cell phone out of his pant pocket and brought it to his ear.

"Yeah?" Sam heard his fellow hunter ask and kept his eyes on the back of Hel's head.

"Yes, this might be me. Oh. Hello then, good to hear you. Yeah, wait a second, he's right here..."

At that Sam raised his eyebrows when Hel stopped and turned to him, holding his cell phone at him. "It's a Bobby", Hel stated and nodded at the phone. The young Winchester's face lit up and he grabbed the small device.

"Hey..." he began.

"_Damnit, which hell hole has swallowed you, Sam? It's easier to get the pope to the phone!"_

"Bobby...", Sam smiled and pinched the bridge of his nose, partly relieved hearing the voice of his fellow hunter, partly strained by the booming voice that greeted him after hours of rushing waters and the smacking sounds of his boots on the muddy forest ground.

"_I tried to reach your cell for ages."_

"Yeah, I know, I lost my phone. Plus, it's kinda right out in the sticks here. How do you know this number?"

"_Got it from Ellen. She told me what happened. You okay, kid?"_

"I'm fine, just...worried, you know."

"_That's to be expected. Any sign of your brother yet?"_

"No...well, we're following some tracks, hopefully his..." When Sam looked up Hel signaled him to take a break and let his bag slide from his shoulder. The older man took a seat on a fallen tree trunk and shook his hands as if it would help to get rid of the water. Sam walked up beside him and leaned against a spruce.

"_Okay. Listen, Sam, I have some weighty tomes lying around here that can give us some useful information on that Thunderbird thing, in case you're going to face it. But I might need some time to work it through."_

"We already did."

"_Did what?"_

"Face it."

"_What?"_

"Yeah, we found it getting it's groceries, as you might call it. It was fishing when we attacked it."

"_Oh, you attacked it." T_he flat tone on the other end of the phone indicated that Bobby either wasn't believing Sam or he thought the younger Winchester was completely nuts._ "Are you insane?" Okay, __the latter."What have you been thinking? Completely unprepared? That's no canary you're up to here, we're talking about a mighty urban legend, fully equipped with mystical powers and stuff."_

"Relax, we're okay. Hel knows something about the Thunderbird."

"_That the guy I just talked to? And? Did you kill it?"_

"No, we only managed to injure it. Everything we thought would kill it, just didn't work."

"_I see." _Bobby went silent and for a few moments the only thing Sam could hear was the rustling of paper, muffled swearing and the bang of a heavy book falling shut. A few page flipping moments later Bobby mumbled to himself before he talked again to the younger Winchester on the other end. _"Sam, this is some heavy mumbo jumbo, like I said, I'm gonna need more time. I call you back as soon as I got something, alright?"_

"Okay Bobby, thanks."

"_And after that I'm gonna head down to you, help you and your friend find that straying brother of yours, you hear? Then he can explain me face to face why he's so keen on killing himself, that idjit."_

A pained smile ghosted over Sam's lips. "Good", he swallowed and felt a lump appear in his throat. "We need every help we can get."

"_He's okay. Don't panic, Sam. Keep your head on the job."_

"I will. See you, Bobby." With that, Sam pulled the cell from his ear and kept it in his hand. He stared at it, lost in thoughts.

"A friend of yours?" Hel's deep yet soft voice sounded from beside him. The hunter hadn't moved from his position on the trunk and looked at Sam expectantly with understanding eyes. Sam nodded and he put his phone away.

"Yeah. More than that. He practically watched Dean and me grow up. Our uncle Bobby..." He snorted at the nickname and wondered if he or Dean ever had called him that and how the gruff old man with the snugly beard would react if he knew about his unofficial title. "Anyway, he does some research on our feathered friend and calls back when he finds something useful. A way to kill it, for example. He's going to join us for the search later, too."

Hel smiled and let his head fall back to catch a glimpse of the grey sky above. "Okay then. Let's not lose daylight." He stood and shouldered his bag again, leading the duo through the never ending woods.

* * *

It felt like diving. Or more like drowning. Maybe both at the same time. Like being under water and one minute enjoying the weightlessness, the muted sounds of the world around him and in the next minute noticing that he was running out of air with no way to draw a breath. And realizing that while he was struggling and swimming like a madman to reach the surface, he only succeeded in sinking deeper and deeper.

Feeling his airway cord up Dean got into full-panic-mode and fought with all his might. He wasn't sure if it was only his mind struggling or if his body was doing the same and he was lying there in that freakin' cave, trashing and gasping like a stranded fish. Oddly, in between what he was sure were his death throes he mused about how much crap all the stories about the life flying past you really were. There was only one image before is mind's eye, and that was his baby brother.

Dean realized that he had never ever told Sam how much he loved him. He could always give hugs and embraces a miss, no problem at all, but in this very moment he deeply regretted that his manly self had always kept him from such girly speeches like 'I love you, bro!' or 'You're important to me.'.

Plus, right now he'd give everything to endure Sam's little brother annoyances just one more time. His broody phases and grouchy moods. A long-drawn-out 'Deeeeeeaaaaan' whenever he had been able to do something that went on Sam's nerves.

While he seemed to sink from the clear part of the water into the deeper, darker abyss, the panic and the fear of death slowly abated and were replaced by calm and acceptance. Dean had gone completely still now and was even in the mood for a weak smile, when his sense of smell wouldn't have been assaulted by one of the worst odors he ever experienced.

A pungent, spicy stench crawled up his nose and pulled him from his warm, peaceful place right back to the cold and rainy scene where he had fallen asleep. With a gasp Dean's eyes shot open and he bolted upright, only to be met with every single hurting sinew of his body again. Shocked by the many unpleasant stimuli like the cold, the pain and the huge amount of oxygen rushing into his lungs too fast, Dean's rough awakening was followed by the well-known coughing fit. He felt his mouth fill up with blood and while he spat it out he doubted that it was very healthy to have more blood outside then inside. The hacking was soon interrupted by a yelp of pain of the suffering man, who couldn't hold himself upright any longer and tilted forward, knocking something in front of his face away in the process. If it wouldn't have been for a strong arm catching him, he would have toppled right into the embers of the dying bonfire and could have added burns to his smorgasbord of injuries.

"No need to flee into the fire, son", a deep and calm voice said beside Dean and the young Winchester felt another arm being laid around him and the attached hand grip his shoulder firmly. For the briefest moments Dean realized that he felt kinda uncomfortable being in such a tight grip by god knows who and every fiber of his body that wasn't occupied with his pain told him to get his butt up and run, but that rational thought was gone as fast as it had occurred and Dean leaned into the strong touch with a groan.

Everything was fuzzy. When he thought he had felt like shit before, he now wanted to die immediately and without detours. With his lips slightly parted and breathing through his mouth to keep the nausea under control and eyes opened to glassy slits he felt himself being laid to the ground. Dean tried to make out the person at his side, but gave up when he couldn't keep his eyes open. He concentrated instead on the blood tickling down his chin.

"I will see what I can do for you", the man kneeling beside Dean stated quietly and laid warm rough hands on the dazed man's sweaty forehead. In a lucid second the young hunter wondered what the hands on his face were supposed to achieve, but instead of a snarky remark only a whimper escaped his chapped lips.

The hands disappeared and the voice pulled Dean from a blissful half-conscious state. "There's nothing I can do for you from here. May I take you somewhere safe, were I might help you survive?" Dean gave a single, barely visible nod and swallowed heavily. He just wanted to get out of here. Away from the woods, the rocks, the cold, everything. And surviving didn't sound bad. Hell, he would welcome a freakin' hospital right now.

"I'm going to put something on your wound", the man whispered and started to work on the bandage, "it's going to hurt, but it'll help." Before Dean was able to brace himself his mouth was pried open and a piece of wood was shoved in. Then something hot and muddy was pressed against his shoulder wound. And god, it hurt. Dean bit down on the wood hard, his breathing quickened into short gasps. His face crunched up in pure agony and pain. Tears ran down his face and he hit his head onto the ground repeatedly. But instead of subsiding, the pain increased tenfold and Dean did the only thing he hoped that would keep him from losing his mind – he let out a blood-curdling scream before he let himself fall.

* * *

Both hunters froze in their tracks, listening to the seemingly endless scream in the distance. When it finally became silent again, Hel turned around to look at Sam. And with one glance at the younger man he knew.

Sam stood, mouth agape, eyes widened. He stared ahead, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack tightly, his eyes welling up with tears and raw emotion. For a moment he looked like a marble statue, before he took a few slow steps forward until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Hel. The older hunter saw Sam's lips moving, "No. No. Dean? Nono..." he whispered, and before Hel was able to say anything, Sam started to run.

He dashed between the trees, his whispered pleas now turning into yells and shouts for his brother. Sam ignored the hits of low hanging twigs he grazed, jumped over tree trunks and roots, got up immediately after he nosedived because of the slippery ground. Behind him, he heard Hel following him closely, but didn't take the time to feel glad about it. The two man reached a clearing at the riverside and came to a halt, panting and looking around wildly.

"DEAN!" Sam hollered, his gaze frantically wandering around, wet strands of hair following the jerky movements. "DEAN! WHERE ARE YOU? ANSWER ME! DEAN!" Hel walked slowly on and cocked his head, trying to hear anything over the sounds coming from the river and the rain. When he didn't catch a sound he joined Sam and shouted for the missing brother whose gut-wrenching scream had resounded through the forrest.

After what seemed like ages with Sam shouting his brother's name and wandering around in panic, the young man let out a final howl of rage and ran his hands through his dripping hair. That scream. God, never had he heard such an awful sound coming from his big, larger-than-life brother and he sure as hell never wanted to hear something like that ever again. Pure fear for Dean's life flooded through Sam and he felt tears running down his cheeks. And the fact that they seemed to be so close to Dean yet unable to find him drove him crazy.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder and took a step back. Hel raised his hands in surrender.

"Easy, Sam."

Sam nodded jerkily and sniffed, wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve. "Sorry", he choked and continued to watch their surroundings. Hel took his hands down and scratched his nose.

"Okay, maybe we should split up, take different directions", he suggested, glancing at the upset hunter and searching his face for a reaction. "Sam?"

When the younger Winchester turned to reply, the approach of fast footsteps let the men's head's snap up. Training and instinct took over and the two hunters jumped under cover, Sam behind a massive tree and Hel in a mass of bushes. The older man pulled his gun from his jacket and loaded it, his narrowed eyes never leaving the clearing. Sam checked his own Taurus and tried to ignore the sharp pang of grief he felt holding the weapon he knew his brother loved. With a clenched jaw he aimed at the clearing, observant to what would jump out any moment.

The sounds of someone running grew louder and just as Hel adjusted the grip on his gun, a call rang out from the opposite direction: "DEAN!"

For the second time this day, Sam froze. He pulled his head back and looked over to his equally stunned companion, who raised his brows and mouthed a 'What the...'

They concentrated their attention back on the clearing in time to witness a young man, maybe in his twenties, stumble from the undergrowth at the other side. He fell to his knees and hands, but got up again immediately and started to resume his sprint through the woods, when Hel and Sam jumped out of their cover and aimed at the boy.

"Hey! Stay where you are. Now!" Hel shouted and Sam found himself impressed by the authoritative tone his native american friend could muster up.

The boy stopped and slipped, this time landing on his butt, sludge and dirt spray on. He eyed the two approaching men with eyes huge like saucers, startled. But in an instant, his expression changed into relief and he scrambled on his knees.

"Oh thank God...you're...it's Sam, right? Holy crap...", he panted, almost falling into hysterical laughter, running muddy fingers through his dirty hair. "I can't believe it..."

Hel and Sam looked at each other before Hel lowered his weapon and put it back into his jacket. He raised an eyebrow at Sam, who stood unmoving, still aiming at the kid on the ground.

"Who the hell are you and why are you calling my brother's name?" he growled, his cold stare on the dirty figure.

"Sam...", Hel began carefully and considered taking a step to his friend but decided to stay where he was.

The long-haired boy lifted his hands slowly, his laughter dying away. "It's...I'm Patrick...don't you remember me? I was with Dean on that hunt when we were attacked...my friends died, Jason and Seth...but Dean and me, we got away and..."

"Where is he?" Sam demanded and took a step forward, the gun still leveled on Patrick. "Where's Dean?"

Patrick's eyes darted between Sam and Hel, apprehension seeping out of the big brown eyes. "He's hurt...it's bad and...he told me to leave him behind so I could go on faster and get help. I was...I had to climb over a landslide...that's why I only made slow progress and that's when I heard him scream...I turned and ran back as fast as I could...and that's why I'm here now."

"Sam", Hel tried again, this time approaching the strung up Winchester slowly, "I think you can put that thing down." He laid his hand gently on Sam's outstretched weapon arm and pushed it down, glad that he wasn't meet with any resistance.

After a second or two Sam seemed to shake himself mentally and took a deep breath, putting the gun away and rubbing his hands on his thighs. He closed the gap between him and Patrick and held his hand out to the boy still kneeling on the ground.

"I'm sorry", he sighed, his tone now soft and apologizing. "Of course I remember you. But with all the mud and dirt..." Patrick looked at Sam suspiciously but accepted his hand and let himself being hauled up to his feet. "S'okay", he mumbled, "I don't think I would recognize myself."

"Where did you leave Dean? Can you lead us there?" Sam asked calm, but with urgency.

"Yeah, sure. Just follow me", Patrick replied and began to sprint away from the river deeper into the woods, followed by the tall hunter. Hel went back for their bags and followed the two, his eyes darting around in case anything might take advantage of the chaotic situation.

It took the trio another five minutes until the rock formation came up on the horizon where Patrick had left Dean. The second it came in sight, Sam quickened his pace and ran past Patrick. He began calling his brother's name again.

The outcry in sheer desperation when everything he found were the remains of a bonfire and blood on the ground was equal to Dean's scream half an hour ago.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey folks. I know, I'm early again. But due to some family festivities tomorrow I thought it might cheer you up when I post today...**

**Okay, let's check out who that ominous guy is, shall we? Bet you're all curious. This chapter is one of my favourites, I hope you see it that way, too.  
**

**Thanks again for all the lovely reviews, you all rule!**

**And a special wink and wave to MeAzrael, my lovely Beta – it wouldn't be the same without you, hun! Writing, Supernatural, working, life – it would be just a boring sterile piece of dry bread. Love ya, sis!**

**As always: SPN and it's characters belong to the CW and Chief Kripke, but Hel and Patrick an the ominous guy we get to meet in this chappy belong to meeeeeeeee **huaraaaahahhahaha****

**Chapter 10**

He knew that it wouldn't help to lose it now. Like Bobby had said, he needed to keep a cool head. Only that it was easier said than done.

The thrill of anticipation had spurred him on, had given him strength were nothing had been left and had made him race to the cave where his brother was supposed to be. He wanted to hold Dean, check him over, ignore any witty comments on being a girl, wanted to tell him that he was sorry, for his selfish behavior, for his escape, for letting Dean drop like a hot potato.

It all shattered to pieces when he rounded the corner and found nothing. The cold ashes of a died fire to his feet seemed to laugh at him, mocking him, 'See, you're too late, Sam. Again!' But what brought him to his knees was the blood on the ground, not the amount of someone bleeding to death, but enough to make Sam want to bawl like a baby.

He heard Hel and Patrick arrive behind him, slowing down and taking in the scene. While Hel took position right behind Sam, touching the small of his back with his shins like a brace if necessary, seeming to say 'I'm here for you', Patrick stepped into the small cave and let his gaze wander around, shaking his head.

"I don't understand", he said, his voice trembling, "he should have stayed here. He was in no condition to go anywhere..." His voice trailed off when Hel cleared his throat, signaling Patrick to keep those thoughts to himself for the time being.

"Sam? You okay?" the older hunter asked, crouching down beside Sam. The young man looked up with glistening eyes and for a second it occurred to him that Dean was right, that he might be a girl after all, getting all bleary eyed the whole time. He nodded and curled his fingers into fists. He needed to stay focused. And Hel seemed to understand.

The dark haired man stood and clapped his hands together. "Okay then. We still have a job to do. Dean's not here which doesn't mean anything. The way I see it we have tons of hints here, we just have to analyze them right. And then we're going to rest."

Sam opened his mouth but Hel held his hand up. "I know, Sam. But it's getting dark and we all need sleep and food."

"No", Sam protested and jumped forcefully to his feet, "I won't sit here like a bump on a log and..." He stopped his rant and ran a hand over his face. Suddenly all the fight in him was gone. Of course Hel was right. What was he suppose to do? Walk on into the night? Wandering around in the woods with a flashlight and no clue where to look for Dean? That would be absolutely pointless. They had to find out what had happened first.

And he needed to trust Hel in this. Had to confide in the native American's gift to keep a clear head and to motivate people like this. He had done it at the Roadhouse, were Sam had been ready to rip Seth apart for leaving Dean. Had managed to calm him down and arrange the disordered thoughts then. And it seemed to work again now, getting all the agitated ducks in one row to focus and hopefully solve the problem at hand.

Once again Sam tried to concentrate and push his worries back. "Listen. I'm sorry..." he muttered, tired eyes meeting sympathetic ones. "You're right, we need to check the traces first."

Hel gave him a smile and a single nod before he turned to Patrick, who still stood unmoving in the corner of the cave, eyeing the two older hunters. "I want you to fill us in", Hel said, his eyes on the youngest member of the group, "we need to know what happened when that Thunderbird attacked you on that vantage point..."

"Thunderbird? You mean...Jesus Christ...", Patrick gasped and went down on his haunches.

"Yeah, believe me, I was as wonderstruck as you are." Suddenly his tone changed from commanding to caring. "We also need to know how Dean is, so we can get proper help for him. His condition, his injuries..." His dark eyes met Sam's for a second and he fell silent.

Sam closed his eyes briefly before he glanced at Patrick, who was still staring into nothing. "How bad is it, Patrick?" he asked, his voice steady despite his emotions.

The youngest of the group lowered his gaze again. He started to fidget with his fingers. "When that creature attacked us, Jason got killed. Or, I think he got killed. I don't know about Seth, but I doubt that he's still alive."

"He is", Hel interrupted, "he's the reason we're here. If Seth wouldn't have come back and get us from the Roadhouse we wouldn't know about what had happened here."

Patrick's face lit up and he threw his head back with joy, "Oh thank god!"

A pained smile appeared on Sam's lips, unable to join the kid in his delight. went silent again and gave the men with him a leveled look. "Did you...was there another...have you seen Jason, by any chance?"

The young Winchester's smile died and before Hel or he had the chance to open their mouths, Patrick looked away and swallowed. "Yeah. I thought so", he choked out. The three of them lapsed into silence again. For the briefest moment Sam felt like sitting in a book club. Hel had sat down opposite them against the stone wall, his arms dangling over his knees. He was sharpening a huge knife while listening to what Patrick had to say.

Sam and Patrick were sitting on the other side, up against the rocks, too, their postures mirroring the older hunter. Sam's gaze fell on the ashes of the fire and he couldn't help but think that there was something odd about it. He just couldn't put a finger on it yet.

"Anyway", Patrick went on, "Dean and me, we were trying to kill it with our guns. But they were useless against that thing. At some point it concentrated on Dean, got him real good with it's talons on his shoulder. He tried to get away from it and somehow fell from the cliff. I thought he wouldn't survive this fall." The young man told Hel and Sam about his escape from the Thunderbird's claws and how he had wandered through the woods afterwards, only to found Dean at the riverside. "At first he seemed okay, but I got to check his shoulder. It's bad. When I found him, it was already infected. He also has some broken ribs of which some have punctured a lung, maybe both. I guess that's from the fall."

When Patrick paused, Sam noticed that he had bitten into his bottom lip too hard and he was tasting blood. Even his jaw hurt from the tension his body had built up. Hel had stopped to sharpen his knife and looked as if he contemplated a way to get Dean out after they found him.

"How bad was Dean when you left him here?"

The question asked by the eldest of them was the question of which the answer Sam dreaded the most. He closed his eyes and listened to Patrick.

"He...uh...was running a high fever. Had collapsed and passed out before, that's why we took a break in the first place. It was hard for him to breathe and he was coughing up blood the whole time. From what I saw...well..." He glanced sadly up at Sam, "...I don't know how long he can go on. When I left him here, I thought that no matter how fast I would be and how fast I would get help, it'd be too late for Dean." With that, Patrick looked down again and started to bite his fingernails.

Sam nodded and blinked, his jaw still clenched. He had assumed the worst from what he had witnessed during their fight against the massive creature. Had wondered how injured his brother really was. Had hoped that when Dean had been able to come this far, his condition wouldn't be too bad.

Listening to Patrick's words sent his body into some kind of rigor and his ever present sinking feeling since all this had started turn into a petrifying quake of fear, dread and hopelessness.

When Dean had been this bad a few hours ago, in which condition were they suppose to find him after what heaven knows had happened now? How could you be in time when time had been up from the beginning?

He barely failed to hear Hel's whispered "Okay." When Sam searched the ever confident face of his friend he paled when he found nothing of the sort. Tired, dark eyes seemed to avoid eye contact and were directed on the freshly sharpened blade of the knife.

The oppressive silence was only disturbed by the bawl of the river. And for the first time Sam was very truly bugged by the ever present rushing of water. Being in that cave made matters even worse as the sound reverberated from the close walls. He stood and turned his back to his fellow hunters, watching the rain sheet down outside and the day being alternated with night.

"I will find my brother", he stated quietly with a trembling voice, "It's okay if you want to give up and head home." He turned again and faced Hel. "You've been a great help, you did more then someone can ask for. I owe you. _We _owe you."

Hel stared back at him from his position on the ground and for a moment, Sam couldn't read the expression on the man's benign features. With his face totally void of any expression, Sam didn't know what to expect.

With a sigh, Hel raised his knife and pointed with it to the place Sam had sat before. "Sit back down, you jerk", he commanded and thrust the weapon beside him into the soft ground.

Stunned, the young Winchester raised his brows but remained standing. Hel craned his neck to look into watery hazel eyes. "Sam. I could be offended that you think of me like that. Like I would just get up and march away, like, 'There's no hope, so see you!' I promised to bring Dean back and I'm a man who keeps his promise." He got to his feet and closed the gap between the tall Winchester and him. A calloused, yet soft hand gripped Sam at the back of his neck and pulled him close so that their foreheads were touching. "We're in this together, you hear me? You won't get rid of me so fast." With that, Hel let go of Sam's neck and clapped him on the shoulder. He turned and faced Patrick.

"How about you, can you hold on until tomorrow morning? We're going to contact someone to get you out of here."

The long-haired boy's eyes widened and he shook his head jerkily. "No way", he protested, "I'm in this, too."

It was Sam who answered. "Patrick, really, I appreciate this, but you must be exhausted and it's okay when..."

"No. I gave a promise, too, you know?" Then Patrick smiled. "Besides, I like your brother. He's a nice guy. And somehow I know he would do the same if it were me gone missing. No matter how exhausted or injured."

Sam had to smile himself at the statement. Patrick had no idea how right he was.

And again he noticed the wetness in his eyes and his smile got even bigger when he thought about what Dean would have to say if he knew of his ever blubbering kid brother.

"Okay then", he choked and gave a little cough, "Thank you. I...well...thanks."

" You're very welcome, Sam", Hel said, smiling, and took a look around the now nearly darkened cave and nodded toward a pile of twigs and branches in a corner. "I see we have wood. Let's get that fire start again. I'll go on a hunt, see if I can get us a proper meal tonight. Sam, I want you to take a look at the footprints and traces on the ground, see if you can find out anything."

Sam nodded and inspected the fireplace again. What was bugging him with that spot? He needed to check the embers properly before it went completely dark and the new fire would destroy every trace of Dean's whereabouts. And then he would check the footprints he made out during earlier inspections. Because as long as there was a trail, there would always be hope.

* * *

The crackling of a fire penetrated Dean's mind as he clawed his way out of an unpleasant fever dream. For a second he wondered where the river with his unnerving whooshing had gone, because except for the fire he couldn't hear a thing. After an unsuccessful try to open his eyes he decided to let his other senses take over.

He was lying on his back on something soft, a bed or a couch maybe. The fire had to be at the other side of wherever he was. As there were no other sounds of nature and from the sound of the crackling he assumed that he was in some kind of room. The smell of herbs was in the air, masking the odor of wood and mustiness.

With Dean's senses the pain returned. The pressure on his chest, the throbbing of his shoulder in time with his head. To his amazement he felt slightly better then before his nap. Still like shit and still like a horse you better shoot dead before it get's expensive, but he had the feeling that his condition had taken a turn to the better.

Shifting and carefully sitting up, he suppressed the arising urge to cough because he didn't want to call attention to himself yet. First he needed to get his freakin' eyes open and check out where the heck he was.

It was then when he realized that the blanket draped over him was itchy. Very. And after a short moment of wondering why that itchy blanket was making him want to scratch his belly, he noticed the absence of his clothes.

All of them.

_Oh, come on._

Dean pulled the blanket up to his chin as fast as he could, which was still very slow, and blinked his eyes open. When the haze subsided he found that his assumptions hadn't been very wrong.

He found himself indeed in a cabin of some sort, with an open fireplace at the other end of the room. The dancing flames bathed the chamber in orange light and gave the room a cosy atmosphere. Yet there were no signs that someone was living here. No kitchen, no proper furniture. There was just the couch he was lying on and a huge wooden table with loads of herbs placed on it. In another corner were pillows and native american style blankets on the ground, seemingly serving as a seating area. Glancing at the ceiling, Dean couldn't see a lamp or even a light bulb. What he saw made him want to jump off his sleeping place immediately. Whoever lived here had no problems with spiderwebs or their residents. Every corner was cobwebbed and inhabited at least one spider.

"Don't be scared, they will not harm you."

With a gasp, Dean turned his head to where the voice had sounded. Beside the fireplace stood a man, maybe in his late 50s. He was dressed in black, his long, despite his age raven hair tied to a queue. One of his eyes was covered with a black eye patch.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you", he apologized and held his hands up.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "I...", he rasped and cleared his throat, "I know you're voice. You've...been out there. In the woods, right?" He remembered now. The feeling of dying. Drowning. And the stench that had gotten him back. The voice of someone beside him, holding him.

"I was." The man put his hands down and walked up to the couch. Slightly uncomfortable with him being naked and all, Dean shrank slightly back and eyed the tall man suspiciously.

"May I?" the stranger asked and pointed at Dean's shoulder, which was, to the Winchester's surprise wrapped in a fresh white bandage. Swallowing, Dean nodded, let the blanket fall down slightly and watched as his saviour carefully unwrapped the dressing.

"Do you have a name, son?" the man asked and Dean had to look away when his wound got exposed.

"Dean", he hissed, staring straight ahead and clenching his jaw against the pain the administrations were causing. He wished he could put his sense of smell off, too, so he wouldn't have to endure that mixture of stenches wafting off his shoulder. The acrid odor of herbs combined with the scent of festered flesh made his eyes water.

"Well, Dean. I am Tahkeome. I'm glad to have you here."

With a grunt of pain Dean fisted the blanket, unable to respond. God, that hurt. Whatever that guy was doing, it might be more pleasant with a good anesthesia. Unaffected by his guest's suffering, Tahkeome spoke on.

"You were nearly gone when I found you last night, but thanks to some special leafs and herbs I was able to grab you and pull you back from the brink." The older man reached for a fresh bandage and started to wrap it around Dean's shoulder.

With the agony fading, Dean was able to breathe and think again. He remembered that smell and how he had woken up. And he remembered the pain he had suddenly felt before he had passed out, right after some muddy stuff had been rubbed on his shoulder wound.

"That stuff...", he began, but was interrupted by coughing.

"It's a mixture of medicinal herbs, the formula is passed down by members of my tribe since man knows how to talk. I apologize for the pain it causes, but it helps a lot. And to be honest, I am not sure how I would have had brought you here when you would have been awake." He smiled and gripped Deans upper arm. "You should rest, son."

Dean ran a hand over his face, noticing the beads of sweat on his forehead. The fifteen minutes he had been awake had drained him already and he was eager to get some more sleep. But first things first.

"Hey, uh...do you have a phone somewhere?"

Tahkeome looked at the young Winchester guiltily. "I'm afraid I don't. I am a man of nature, I don't believe in such modern technology."

Dean frowned at the man, partly in disbelief, partly in exertion. _Super. From all people in the world I must have been saved by Tarzan the ape man_.

He blinked heavily, his mind racing but succumbing to fatigue. He would get his strength back first. And then he could find a way to contact Ellen or Bobby. Maybe even Sam...

* * *

Sam had really tried to rest. But after a few hours of fitful sleep he had given up and was now sitting in front of the cave, staring through the canopy into the sky.

The rain had stopped and the clouds had given way to a starlit night. Once in a while Sam got up and fed the flames of the fire that was crackling behind him, warming his back. Hel and Patrick were fast asleep, huddled around the warmth.

The tall Winchester was engrossed in thought of what they would do next. Before Hell had returned with two dead rabbits Sam and Patrick had been able to identify the footprints around the cave. Three pairs were, of course, their own. Patrick's prints were virtually everywhere. When Sam hadn't found any of Dean's footprints, he got into panic once more, until he learned from Patrick that Dean hadn't been able to walk anymore to the time they had found the cave and had been dragged by him.

A detail Sam hadn't want to know. Just more oil into the fire of worry raging inside him.

And then there was a footprint that had gotten their attention. Human, definitely. But the imprint was blank, like somebody had worn only socks. No sign of a typical imprint made by a hiking boot or an ordinary sneaker.

Plus, Sam had found out what had bothered him with the died fire. It hadn't been died alone. It had been extinguished. The carbonized remains of wood had been covered with sand, earth and gravel. There had even been a disturbed spot beside the fireplace, the spot were Sam assumed the debris to extinguish the fire had come from.

That made clear that someone had been here and had found his brother. Which was actually good news and Sam could strike wild animals from his list. And after calling Bobby and mandate him to call the nearest hospitals and, because it had to be, morgues, the glimmer of hope in Sam's heart and mind had increased to a ray.

But that left the trio once again grasp at straws at where to go next. How ever that person had managed to get Dean away, they had no traces on the ground left because of the rain. Which meant that neither of them had a clue as where to go next.

Back to square one. But now including knowledge that didn't got well with Sam. The knowledge of Dean's injuries. He was glad that he hadn't his laptop with him, otherwise he would have researched the internet for "punctured lungs" and everything he could learn from it. Infections were nothing new to him, he and Dean had suffered many of them and knew how to deal with it. But then again they had never dealt alone with an infected wound. In the woods. Without a first aid kit.

So Sam did the only thing he could at the moment, he held onto that ray of hope that whoever had found Dean had taken him to the next hospital. And the whole nightmare would be put to an end.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi there!**

**Another chapter for you all, that hopefully finds approval. Let's see who our nice Mother Theresa really is, huh? Ah, and a virtual chocolate cookie for everyone who notices my tribute to the movie "Devour" in this one :-)**

**Honeypie, glad you still stick with me and are as excited about the new story I'm currently researching for as I am! Please never stop to keep my feet on the ground!**

**The usual Dissy: Supernatural and it's characters belong to Master Kripe and and CW – the ones you don't know in this story belong to me. At least something.**

**Enjoy!!**

**Chapter 11**

Dean awoke with a start, gasping and his eyes shooting open but seeing nothing. His body protested in an instant, throwing him into a bout of coughing that didn't seem to end.

While he hacked his lungs out, he felt a warm hand on his chest and a damp, mint-scented cloth over his mouth and nose. Panicking, Dean tried to turn his head away and struggled against whoever was restricting him.

"Easy", a voice near his face soothed, "Just take deep breaths. You are going to be alright."

Recognizing the voice, the young Winchester tried to calm down, his eyes darting around and finding a familiar face looming over him. With the deep breaths into the cloth the coughing subsided and Dean felt the pressure on his chest lessen. After some more breaths, Tahkeome removed the cloth and stepped back, eying his ward with a satisfied smile.

"The power of nature", he said triumphantly, holding the cloth up for Dean to see, "It can help with almost everything." He dropped it on the huge table and began to rummage with the other herbs spread out on it.

Dean watched the man with hooded eyes and tried to comprehend his current situation. His gaze fell on his blanket that had slid down and was only just covering his lower half of the body. He quickly pulled it up to his chest again, cursing at the itchiness that made him want to scratch himself bloody.

For the first time he noticed two little windows that led the broad daylight into the cabin. To Dean's surprise the day seemed to be sunny. A welcome change to the last days full of rain.

He cleared his throat and looked at the busy man at the table. "Thanks for the help with the...coughing problem", he rasped and sat upright, wincing at the twinges in his chest and shoulder. "Hey, uh...you wouldn't happen to know where my clothes are?"

Tahkeome didn't look up. "Oh, of course I know where you're clothes are, I am the one who undressed you."

Deadpanned, Dean swallowed, hoping that the embarrassment he felt wasn't too evident on his face. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. There he was, lying under a poor excuse for a woolen blanket that was scraping his skin off, on a couch were the box springs were drilling holes into his back, accompanied by a crazy, single-eyed copy of "Sitting Bull" who didn't believe in technology and therefore had no phone, but was eager to rub everything from cow dung to daisy roots on him. Oh, and let's not forget the freakin' nakedness.

_But he saved your life and takes care of you, you ungrateful punk._

Dean suppressed a shudder and let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah, well...can I have them back? I feel...uh...I'd feel more comfortable if I would wear something, you know."

The older man put a bunch of what looked like tiny fern aside and turned fully to Dean. "I'm afraid, I discarded your clothes", he stated bluntly. "I only kept your boots, the rest was destroyed by what had happened to you."

Raising his eyebrows and mouth agape, Dean looked at Tahkeome in disbelief. The Winchester shortly reflected the condition of his clothes when he had been lucid enough to apperceive them the last time. He agreed with the shirt, he and Patrick had torn it to shreds to bandage his shoulder. But the jeans? And his jacket? Damn, he had loved that jacket.

Interrupting Dean's train of thoughts, Tahkeome walked over to the sitting area and grabbed a pile of what looked suspiciously like another itchy blanket. When he stepped up to the couch he held it out to Dean.

"You can put this on. I am sure it will fit and suit you fine. It is an attire worn by my tribe over decades."

Dean reached out, touched the material and was absolutely sure that he would start to cry immediately. The sand colored, loose shirt with long sleeves he pulled from the pile seemed to be made from the same fabric as the blanket covering him. At least the black, loose linen trouser was soft enough to prevent Dean's fingers from twitching.

"You got to be kidding me", he mumbled and scratched his head, his flesh crawling at the thought of wearing these garments. _I wonder if that tribe still exists or if the have scratched themselves to death?_

"But you should rest", Tahkeome told him, suddenly appearing with a white ceramic pot in his hands. "You are far from being healthy." He poured some steaming yellow liquid into a cup and handed it to Dean, who scrutinized the content of the cup and smelled at it. When he tried it, he was pleasantly surprised by the taste of the fluid.

He took another sip and put the cup next to the couch. "Well, I really appreciate your help and all, but I need to get back. I'm sure there's someone looking for me right now." He thought of Patrick and wondered if the kid had managed to get help. If Ellen had noticed that something had gone wrong by this time. And wether Sam had tried to reach him on his cell and had gotten uneasy when he hadn't been able to reach his brother.

He glanced up at Tahkeome who had resumed his work with the herbs at his table.

"What's this stuff I'm drinking here? And where is it you brought me anyway?" he asked, eager to make out where he was and how long it would take to get back to civilization. Because this wasn't anywhere near it.

As if he had all the time on the world, the old native american handled his leafs and twigs, not looking up from his loving handiwork. "It's Indian Paintbrush, Pennyroyal and some other things. And you are still in the National Park. This is an abandoned reservation. My tribe, the Passamaquody Indians, left it years ago."

Dean watched the old man's hands twine the plants with speed and skillfulness. "What about you?"

"I refused to follow them and stayed."

"Why?"

Tahkeome stopped his work and stared into nothing. "Their faith altered the course." At Dean's frown, he went on. "Once we believed in the things our ancestors used to teach us. We believed in nature, in animals, in myth that had been delivered to posterity. But with the new times, things changed. People brought radio to the reservation. The automobile. Electricity. Light coming from objects made of glass."

The old man turned to face Dean and the young Winchester flinched at the unnatural look on Tahkeome's face. The otherwise barely visible wrinkles on the man's skin stood out darkly, his one warm brown eye had taken on a red hue and for a second Dean thought he saw something similar to a bolt of lightning in the man's iris. For a millisecond the younger man was happy about the eye patch – one crazy eye was enough.

Tahkeome's voice rose more and more. Dean slightly backed away at the increasing volume of the older man's rant and wasn't sure if this was the same man he had just gotten clothes and a cup of tea from.

On top of that, the air around his body began to shimmer like the atmosphere above hot tarmac.

"And then there was television. The telephone. Internet. The possibility to go into a shop and buy your meals instead of hunt it down first. My brothers went to the big cities and brought all that stuff to our reservation. They poisoned everything and everyone with those...things! Killed the spirits with their unstoppable greed!"

Suddenly Tahkeome stopped and his shoulders slumped. The old man seemed to shrink in seconds. The next words came out as a whisper. "One after another went to the city and stayed there. Never came back." He turned back to his herbs and took the bunches, caressed the dry leafs and added with a trembling, barely audible voice. "I am the only one who stayed here. Because I still believe in the things that had built up our tribe. Has made us. Has helped us to survive over thousands of years."

Dean watched the man intently as he put the herbs into a leather bag and retreated from the table.

"I will be back", Tahkeome said and walked to the door. "Rest now. I will get food so you get your strength back. You'll need it." With that he went through the heavy wooden door and closed it behind him.

His forehead still in furrows and his mouth slightly agape Dean stared at the door. He hadn't dared to move a muscle during Tahkeome's story. Or rather hissy fit. What the hell had that been? If someone had warned Dean of the other man's temper he would have laughed about it, had joked that the guy wouldn't harm a fly. But after witnessing this, Dean was a bit nervous about his host.

And the special effects? Hell yeah, sometimes he had the feeling he got some sprinkles when Sam was breathing fire and brimstone once in a while but this? The red eyes, the outstanding wrinkles and the shimmer around the ranting man?

Dean shook his head and glanced at the clothes still lying in his lap. He slid his legs from the couch and shuddered when his bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. When he carefully stood, he had to grip the table hard to keep himself from tilting forwards. Taking as deep breaths as his lungs allowed him, he willed the room to stand still and his nausea in check.

After he got dressed and tried to ignore the scratchy garment he laid back on the couch, sweating and completely drained. He stared at the ceiling and observed a big spider plucking a struggling fly from it's web. The spider enveloped the black insect with it's front legs, wrapped it in some sticky threads and paralyzed the fly with a struck from it's poisonous claw. It then crawled backwards into it's home corner to either eat his prey now or maybe to put it into the pantry for hard times.

Dean groaned and ran a hand over his sweaty face, with his other gripping his amulet. Freakin' spiders. And freakin' old nutcases ignoring the 21th century.

His gaze wandered over the walls to the windows and finally stopped at the door. Tahkeome didn't lock it, did he? Tensing his muscles Dean prepared himself to get up again but abandoned the idea quickly. The act of getting dressed had nearly sent him to the floor, how was he supposed to walk out of here and through God knows how many miles of forest again. He doubted that there was a car waiting outside, for all he knew Tahkeome still rode on horses or did his shopping with the canoe.

The old man was right, he needed his strength back. And then he would get out of here. Because for the first time during his stay in this house Dean wasn't sure if he was safe.

* * *

It had been a quiet breakfast.

The three hunters had used the minimal amount of words despite the beautiful morning. The rain had finally stopped and the former dark and forlorn woods were sun-drenched, engulfing the trees in early-morning haze.

Now Sam, Hel and Patrick sat at the still burning fire, every one of them engrossed in activity and lost in thoughts. Hel had collected some straight twigs that he now prepared to use as arrows. He had whittled the sticks to a point with his large knife and inserted feathers from a pheasant he had shot before at the end of the sticks, his skillful actions followed by a mesmerized Patrick.

Sam held the gun he had found at the vantage point in his hands and stroked it slightly with his thumb. Dean's gun. He ejected the clip and let it drop into his palm, eying the empty chamber. Pulling some bullets from his jacket he inserted them and pushed the clip back in place. It was a practiced move he had learned at a young age and had used so many times before, still he took his time with it at this very moment. Relishing the smooth metal of the weapon his brother loved so much. Letting himself drown in grief and sorrow.

The three of them had reached a blind alley. They didn't know what to do next. There was no trail left to follow, no hint that could show them which way to go or which step to take next. The only thing they could do was waiting for a call from Bobby, hoping that the older man had something useful to report. Some good news. Dean being at the local hospital, alive and kicking, hitting at the nurses, bitching at the doctors. Hell, Sam would even be happy if his brother wasn't awake at all, in a coma or whatever, anything but missing in these damn woods.

When a cell phone suddenly rang, all three men looked up at each other, frozen to the spot, before Hel grabbed the phone, checked the caller ID and threw it to Sam.

The young Winchester caught the small device and began talking before the phone had reached his ear.

"Bobby, tell me you got something."

A pause let Sam's breathe hitch.

"_Well, he ain't at the hospital or morgue. Does that count?"_

Sam stood and began pacing, his free hand running through his hair. He felt Hel's and Patrick's eyes on him. "Damnit Bobby, did you check all hospitals?"

"_I called every damn medical center within a 100-mile radius of the park, I even called the local veterinary and police stations. They didn't admit someone that answers to Dean's description. I'm sorry, kid."_

Sam nodded, not thinking that Bobby couldn't see him but unable to say anything.

"_Sam? You still there?"_

"Yeah", the younger man choked out, "I'm here. Anything else?"

"_I don't know if it's a lead, but it's worth a try. Is that phone you're using equipped with GPS?"_

"Uh...sure, Hel said this is a satellite phone, I guess it got GPS, too. Why?"

"_From what my maps are telling me there's an Indian reservation in the south-west of the park. Maybe someone there knows anything?"_

Sam thought about it. Those footprints they had found. There was definitely another person involved. Maybe one of the people living in that reservation had found Dean and hadn't brought him to a hospital yet? Could it be possible that his brother was there?

"Okay, thanks Bobby. That's great", Sam replied, his mood lit up by renewed hope.

"_I'll text you the coordinates. Be careful, okay?"_

"Will be. Anything on the Thunderbird yet?"

"_I'm still wading through that stuff. Gimme some more time and I can present a paper."_

"You know how to find us." With that, the two of them said their farewells and Sam threw the phone back to Hel. He and Patrick had gotten up in the meantime, both staring at the young Winchester eagerly.

"You look like you have good news?" Patrick asked, taking a step towards him.

Sam nodded and told his companions what Bobby had found out. "Now we have to wait for the coordinates of the reservation and hope it's not too far away", he ended his report and nodded at the phone in Hel's hand.

Hel stared at the device. "That might make sense..." he muttered and scratched his chin. Sam looked up at him, noticing the hesitancy in his friend's voice.

"What is it, Hel?" he asked, aware that uncertainty was never a good thing when it came to Hel's instincts.

"That footprint", the dark haired hunter began, "looking like someone was only wearing socks...my first guess was that it might be the imprint of a moccasin."

"So, that fits", Patrick chimed in, smiling, "moccasins are worn by Indians, right? So Dean really might be at that reservation!"

Hel snorted and faced the long-haired kid. "Do you see me wearing moccasins?"

"So what do you say?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. Hel sighted and looked around into the distance.

"I don't want to say anything. I just...I have a bad feeling with this, that's all. I mean, moccasins? You sure noticed the weather yesterday, right? Decades ago, Indians wore moccasins, no matter which weather. But times have changed. Today even Indians wear waterproof clothes and hiking boots."

"Some tradition-conscious tribe, maybe?" Patrick asked, partly joking, partly trying to find an explanation himself.

"I don't know. Let's just be careful." At that moment, his cell beeped and signaled the receiving of a text message. He pushed a few buttons before he performed a volte-face and pointed the phone into the trees.

"This is our direction. Let's pack up and find that tradition-conscious tribe."

While he and Patrick began to gather their stuff, Sam glanced at his friend. He had learned that it was safe to trust Hel's gut feeling. He would be ready. Come what may come.

The men trudged through the undergrowth, Hel taking the lead, from time to time checking a compass he carried in one hand. The march to the reservation would take the trio about four hours, which was a piece of cake compared to the time they had spent in the woods until now.

Sam and Patrick were walking slightly behind the older hunter, concentrating on their steps to avoid stumbling over a root or slipping on the wet ground. After a while in silence the men had gotten into a conversation, exchanging pasts and talking about each other's lifes.

Sloshing through the mud side by side, Patrick cleared his throat.

"You know", he began, and Sam had to smile inwardly over the nervous quality to the kid's voice, "I meant what I said yesterday about liking Dean."

Sam looked at the young man beside him, taken aback. "I never doubted that. I mean, Dean's got his quirks, but sometimes he can be quite adorable." His brother would so kick his ass for that statement.

Patrick smiled and lowered his gaze. "He trusted me, you know? I mean, I loved Jason, he was like a big brother to me. But he never trusted me with things. He always let me do the background stuff, but when it came to hunts or even just a poker game at a bar he would always banish me into the motel room."

Thinking back at times when Dean had had his overprotective streaks, especially when Sam had been younger, the taller Winchester scratched his head.

"It's got nothing to do with trust, you know. It's more...well, Dean can be the same. It's the big brother syndrome or something like that. He did everything he could to keep all that hunting and evil stuff away from me. Back then, after I figured out where my Dad was going when he went away for days or weeks and what it was exactly what our family was doing, I was mad at them for not telling me. I was mad at Dean for not trusting me with the truth." Sam swallowed and kicked a rock away. "Later I learned that it had nothing to do with trust. Dean wanted me to be a kid as long as possible. He wanted for me that I could go to bed without fearing the things that are definitely out there. He just wanted to protect my childhood. And he always wanted to protect me."

There was a pause enduring where the hunters lapsed into silence.

"Is that the reason you two split up?" Patrick asked carefully, not planning to offend the young Winchester. Nevertheless Sam felt a sting to his heart. Was it? Had Dean's overprotectiveness played a part in his decision to go to Stanford, to live a normal life, all on his own?

"There were many reasons", Sam replied softly after a while. "But it doesn't matter anymore because..."

"Down!" Hel hissed suddenly and dropped on his belly in an instant. Sam and Patrick followed suit and crawled the missing feet forward so they were shoulder to shoulder with Hel. Sam narrowed his eyes and peeked through the bushes that gave the trio cover.

The Thunderbird stood in a clearing over what seemed to be a deer and was deeply occupied with the carcass, holding it on the ground with it's sharp talons and skinning it by using it's beak.

"Lunchtime", Hel whispered, staring at the scene in fascination.

"What's the plan?" Patrick asked and pulled the knife Hel had given him before from his pants. The Indian put his hand on the younger man's arm and shook his head.

"No plan. We stay here and wait 'til the damn thing backs off."

"What?" came an exasperated reply which brought Sam's hand to fly up and cover Patrick's mouth in the same second as the massive bird halted it's actions and looked up in their direction. No one dared to breath. Three pairs of widened eyes kept the Thunderbird in sight, which tilted it's head and looked around into the woods that surrounded the clearing.

After what seemed like ages, the creature applied itself to it's task again with a satisfied croak and Hel, Sam and Patrick let out the breathes they had been holding. Hel turned to the long-haired hunter,

"Listen. We don't know how to off that thing yet. Last time we tried Sam nearly got killed. I won't take that chance again. Not with Sam. Not with you. Not with me. So, like I said, we wait here."

The young hunter nodded and put the knife away again carefully. Sam watched the scene, being in awe of Hel using such a tone. He hadn't seen his new friend angry yet but after that little dressing-down Sam was sure it was better to have Hel in a good mood.

They didn't need to wait long for their enemy to disappear. After the Thunderbird had skinned the deer it gripped the carcass with it's claws and spread it's huge wings. With only a few strokes of the wings the bird took off, shaking some trees in it's wake. Minutes later the creature was gone.

"I wonder how it's eye is doing", Hel muttered and stood, knocking off the dirt sticking at his clothes. "Okay. Let's get moving again. We still have a few hours to walk." He checked his compass again and marched on.

Sam noticed Patrick's clenched jaw. "Something wrong?"

"I'm fine. I just want to pluck that thing's feathers out. Every single one."

Sam put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You'll get your chance, Patrick. Just have patience. Now come one, let's go."

* * *

**To be continued...**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello everybody!**

**Chappy time again. Let's see what our new friend is planning with Dean. I just re-read this chapter again and I'm curious what you think of it.**

**Let the games begin...**

**As always I thank MeAzrael for being my precious Beta and I wish her luck for her first post on FanFiction today! See, you can do it! Knew you had it in ya!**

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and all it's characters belong to the CW and Eric Kripke. The people in my story no one knows are mine. **sticks her tongue out****

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Dean had spotted his boots beside the fireplace and somewhere between Tahkeome leaving and him passing out once more on the couch he had managed to grab them and search for his knife, which he expected to be tucked away into one of the heavy things. Somehow he wasn't surprised that it wasn't there.

Now Dean once again lay on the more or less comfortable couch, lost in thoughts. He was curious to check his shoulder, but thought the better of it and refused the urge to pick at the bandage. He indeed felt better. Sure, the shoulder was far from okay, but the fever had gone down a bit and he had stopped wishing to drop dead because of the pain.

His ribs and lungs were another story, though. The twinge in his chest that accompanied every breath was still present and the couldn't get rid of the coppery taste in his mouth. As long as he would keep it slow he might have a chance, but in case he would have to run or fight...he didn't want to think about it. To be honest, he couldn't think of a herb that would be able to heal this injury.

Somewhere in his head, Dean still hoped that the old guy really only had lost his marbles and Tahkeome was just keeping him here because he had neither a phone to call someone nor a car to drive Dean into the next hospital.

Still, Dean hated to be unprepared. His eyes scanned the room for anything he could use as a weapon, just in case. He winced when the door swung open.

Tahkeome stepped in, smiling at his guest and walked over to the sitting area. He grabbed a colorful, thick pillow, deposited it beside the couch and sat down cross-legged on it, his hands folded in front of him.

"Our food will soon be ready", he stated in a friendly tone, "The fireplace outside is prepared. But I want to talk to you first."

Cringing inwardly Dean gave his most innocent smile. He hated that phrase. No matter if it had been his Dad, a teacher or a girl using it, it always meant trouble. And although he knew that there was nothing he should feel guilty for right now, these words made him nervous nonetheless.

"So shoot", Dean summoned, eyeing his counterpart suspiciously.

"I don't know you very well, Dean. And I like to know my guests. So, please tell me something about you. What were you doing in those woods all alone?"

Dean was wondering if it would be wise to tell Tahkeome that he had actually come here to kill a freak of nature but had been forced to change his plans and had fought against a huge bird.

"I was hiking. You know, getting out of the big city with it's smog and being alone for a few hours. I love that." He had to admit to himself that this story was rather lame. But it had to do for now.

"You always hike in jeans and without a backpack?"

_Busted._

"Yeah, well...it was a spontaneous idea, I was on my way to Cheyenne and passed the park and thought it would be a good idea to do a little walk. Next time I should take some more suitable boots, though. Slipped on something and fell down a cliff." At least that was true.

"I see", Tahkeome said, nodding at Dean's shoulder. "What happened with your shoulder? I understand that the broken ribs are caused by your fall, but your shoulder? It looks like an animal attack to me."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the older man. Was this an interrogation? But he had to admit, that guy was good, better then he let on. Dean needed to tread carefully.

"Yeah, I met an angry bird", he answered slowly. No need to lie.

"What are you doing for a living, Dean?"

"I'm a tax accountant." _Where the hell had that come from?_

Tahkeome nodded again and lowered his eye to his hands. The silence in the cabin was crushing and Dean felt a tension in the air he hadn't felt before. When the old man looked up at him again, he smiled.

"You're lying, son."

Clenching his jaw Dean held Tahkeome's gaze and gave him a smile in return that didn't reach his eyes. "Do I?"

"I saw you fight", Tahkeome stated, "I saw the scars on your body. You're no tax accountant, Dean." The smile on Dean's face froze. What was that guy talking about? Where had he seen him fight?

The old man leaned forward. "You're a warrior", he whispered solemnly, "A protector. You have a god on your side." He raised his hand and pointed at Dean's chest, his eye sparkling as he fixed his gaze on the amulet around the younger man's neck.

Dean's eyes wandered down to his pendant and he gripped it tight in a protective gesture. "Okay. Hold on a sec. What are you talking about?" He tensed, ready to spring into action if necessary. In his mind, Dean recapitulated all the bad guys Sam and him had hunted, someone who might knew them, him, and might bear a grudge.

Tahkeome stood and began to pace the room slowly. "I don't keep my prey. Under normal circumstances you'd be dead by now. But when I saw that amulet for the first time I knew you must be special." He stopped at the window and looked outside, his back to Dean. "You fought good. And when I found you in the woods, I knew you must be a warrior. Hanging on for so long with the injuries you had sustained. And so many scars..."

Dean stared at the old man's back with a massive frown. "Wait a minute. That bird that attacked us. That was you?"

Tahkeome turned around and spread his arms. "Wak'âdia. I am a divine one."

"You're a son of a bitch, that's what you are." Dean got up from the couch slowly and cursed when his knees buckled slightly. He gripped the table once again and stepped back on wobbly legs. "You killed the hikers, didn't you. All those missing people, you're behind all that."

The Indian put his arms down again and cocked his head. Did Dean imagine it or was there a red glow appearing in Tahkeome's remaining eye? "They entered my land. It is my right to defend it."

"Those were innocent people", Dean shouted, the calm and almost bemused tone of the man opposite him making him see red. "And the men that were with me? You slaughtered Jason, I'm sure you killed Seth, too and Patrick and me, we were just lucky you got a bit sloppy there."

"I never would have killed you."

Dean pulled his head back and looked at Tahkeome in disbelief. He gripped his pendant and held it up. "Why's that? Because of this? I tell you what, it's a trinket, nothing more." A part of his brain signaled him that it might be a bad idea to talk like that about the thing that had obviously saved his life until now. But in this moment, it didn't matter to Dean. And when the creepy smile reappeared on the old man's face, Dean was sure his teeth would crumble because of his clenched jaw.

Tahkeome crossed his arms. "I doubt that. It is a precious piece to you, because you got it from someone you love."

At that, Dean's mouth closed with an audible click.

"You wonder how I know."

_Holy crap..._

"I am far older then you think I am. I am not your average medicine man, I guess you already noticed that. I am the Thunderbird, an ancient myth, a magical animal sent by my tribe's gods to protect them from the powers of evil."

"Yeah, great job so far", Dean muttered, keeping the man in sight but pondering how to get out of this mess.

"They left, Dean. They traded my protection for the new life. And I can't protect them if it's their wish to leave. But I can protect this land and it's children. And I will do this until my dying breath."

The younger man could only snort at that. Dean tried to keep his facade intact, but with every minute that passed he felt his strength waning. He had problems to focus on his opponent and needed to blink rapidly to keep the world from growing hazy. His shoulder was throbbing again and he began to wheeze as his lungs started to protest against the exertion.

"Unfortunately", Tahkeome went on, "even my days are numbered and when I'm gone no one will protect and defend this land anymore. You know how important it is to protect something you love, don't you, Dean."

Dean shook his head jerkily, "You're insane, old man", he panted, suppressing the urge to cough.

"It is okay when you think like that now. But I am sure you will change your mind soon. You will be a protector to this land as you have been to your brother."

At the mention of Sam, Dean's eyes widened and he turned from angry to royally pissed. He didn't care which mushrooms the old crock had eaten or inhaled to get his magic or how fragile Dean was at the moment, he would rip the Indian's head off if he would mention his brother one more time. Unfortunately, his attempts to stifle the tickle of his throat failed and he gave in, a painful bout of coughing forcing him to double over and sink down on his knees.

"Don't worry. This won't be an issue anymore." Tahkeome walked over to the suffering Winchester and knelt down beside him. One hand on his shoulder, he whispered into Dean's ear. "I will make you a Thunderbird, Dean. I will help you to use all that love, that devotion and all that hate, that disappointment in you to become a powerful Wak'âdia."

Dean looked up into the single dark eye, panting and wheezing, barely able to hold himself upright, and tried to get as much wrath into his expression and voice as he could muster.

"You...can go and...screw yourself."

The younger man couldn't read the other man's expression, but he held his gaze as long as he could before Tahkeome suddenly broke off and jerked his head away. He stared at the window and it seemed as if he had stopped breathing altogether.

Dean's puzzled gaze jumped from the old man's face to the window and back before he heard it too. Voices. The sound of people talking penetrated the silence of the woods and the tension in the cabin.

It was now or never.

The young Winchester gathered all of his strength that he had left and leaped up on his feet, took the few steps to one of the windows as fast as he could, vertigo trying to force him to his knees again. He reached his goal and desperately gripped the windowsill with one hand. Outside, a few yards away from the cabin he was trapped in, he saw three figures walking towards it. He used his free hand to pound against the pane. When he opened his mouth to shout for help, he froze.

Dean stared at the three men, one of them being ridiculously tall with dark longish hair.

"Sammy?" he whispered, before something hit his head from behind with a thud and he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

* * *

When the cluster of wooden cabins finally filtered through the trees after hours and hours of firs, spruces and pines Sam sent a prayer to the man above, partly in relief, partly in hope that his brother was here.

Their march had been uneventful, yet exhausting. But the hope to find Dean in this Indian village had spurred all of them on.

When the three hunters came closer however, the first thing they noticed was the eerie silence surrounding the reservation. There was no dog barking, no people talking or children squeaking. It existed absolutely no sign of life.

"Indian reservation my ass", Hel muttered and halted. "This thing's deserted. A ghost town", he said over his shoulder to Patrick and Sam, who had stopped slightly behind him. "Our Indians are all living a happy life in the cities, with everything the modern life has to offer."

Sam's heart sank once again. Could someone please put more and even bigger obstacles in their way, please?

"Let's check the place out", he said and started walking, his two fellow hunters right behind him. Although neither of them anticipated trouble, everyone pulled his weapon of choice for caution's sake.

They entered the village through a wooden gate that was more a welcome sign like on ranches in Texas as there was no fence. Some of the cabins were barricaded, thick heavy planks nailed over the doors, the window shutters closed. Others looked as if someone would step out every moment, with logs of wood in front of them and fireplaces neatly arranged.

"It's nice", Patrick stated, marveling at the structures of the reservation. "Every cabin has it's own fireplace. The houses are solidly built. But I guess I always had the wrong idea of Indians."

Hel chuckled, "What? You thought they still live in teepees, get high from smoking the calumet and tie a white man to a stake from time to time?"

"No, I just thought they like it here. I mean, it's peaceful and they're save. I thought they'd love the closeness to the nature. I can't understand why they left all this."

"Well...", the older man sighed and was about to begin a discussion, but was interrupted by Sam, who suddenly stopped and held his hand up.

"You hear that?" he asked quietly, his narrowed eyes darting from cabin to cabin.

"What is it, Sam?" Hel whispered, slowly raising his gun and steadying it with his left hand.

They stood there for nearly a whole minute but the village stayed silent. Frustration seeped trough Sam. "I'm not sure. It's gone. It sounded like a knocking or something." He took a few more steps, raised his own gun and yelled, "HELLO? ANYBODY THERE?"

At first, they heard nothing except for a few flushed birds which flew up from a near tree with angry screams. Just when the men wanted to put their weapons down, a voice in the distance answered.

"Who is this?"

Taken aback, Sam's eyes widened and he looked at Hel and Patrick, who were both as surprised as him. The younger Winchester turned back to the direction the voice had come from.

"We're...uh...we're looking for someone", he yelled, "My brother. Please, do you know anything?"

Another pause. When Sam opened his mouth to shout again, a dark figure stepped from the shadows of a cabin in the far end of the village. An elderly man, dressed in black with long lack hair waved at the three hunters and signaled them to come closer.

Taking a reassuring glance at Hel, Sam put his gun down and began to walk. Hel kept his weapon trained on the old man, his eyes scanning the area. Patrick had his hand on the hilt of the knife that was stashed in the waistband of his pants.

Sam's heart was beating fast and too loud for his liking, for a second he feared that it was audible for everyone around him. The fact that his gun was tucked away made him nervous, too, but it was important to gain the stranger's trust. Sam pointing a gun at the guy wouldn't help at all. And if he needed to play the good-cop-bad-cop-game together with Hel, so be it.

The tall hunter stopped a few feet away from the old Indian, slightly flanked by Hel and Patrick. He stretched out his hand, but withdrew it slowly when he noticed the distrustful, almost disgusted glance the old man threw at it.

Two things attracted Sam's attention. The first was the black eye patch that covered the man's right eye. The second was the cold air surrounding the man in front of him, making him shudder. He couldn't pinpoint the bad feeling that suddenly rose in him at the sight but he decided to ignore it for now and cleared his throat instead.

"My name's Sam, this..." he held a hand up and pointed it to his companions, "...are my friends Helushka and Patrick. We're looking for my brother, Dean, he's missing and...uh...we thought he might be here."

"He is not here", the old Indian replied, eyeing the three hunters suspiciously, his gaze getting caught on Hel's gun leveled at him.

"Oh. Okay. Well, have you seen him, maybe? He's about 6 feet tall, short, dark blonde hair, green eyes. Wears jeans and a black jacket. He's injured, maybe he..."

"No, I am afraid, I haven't seen him. I am sorry."

Sam closed his mouth and pursed his lips, his chin trembling slightly. He blinked rapidly to keep the forming tears at bay. Another dead end. Another ray of hope gone out.

"Fine", he choked and swallowed, "Could you...please...in case you find him...he needs help. A hospital. Can you..."

For the first time since they met the old man, the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "I will", he promised and watched the three men expectantly.

Sam nodded jerkily and forced himself to smile back. "Thanks", he whispered and retreated. He turned and mumbled "Let's go" to his fellow hunters before he walked away with bounding strides. Patrick followed, his hand letting go from the knife.

The only one keeping his position was Hel. His gun still trained on the old Indian, he seemed to scrutinize the man's soul with narrowed eyes.

"Do you wish to stay, brother?" the stranger asked, his almost bemused tone stirring Hel's blood. The hunter clenched his jaw and maintained his stance, the gun in his hand never twitching. The two Indians stood like this for mere minutes until Sam's voice managed to filter down to his friend.

"Hel?" the young Winchester asked, having halted his retreat after he had noticed that his companion wasn't following. "What's wrong?"

The hunter swallowed hard. "Nothing", he replied through gritted teeth and lowered the gun. With a final glance at the old Indian, he turned around and marched toward Patrick and Sam, who stood a few feet away, staring at him.

* * *

Tahkeome watched the three hunters retreat, his smile fading.

It had cost him all of his willpower to not slaughter them here and now. They had entered his land. Had taken his eye. Had stained his refuge. And they wanted to take his charge away.

He knew that it was a matter of time until they would come back. He would have to act fast. And while he would prepare Dean for what he was about to become, he would supply the intruders with a special occupation.

**To be continued...**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello out there, actually, good evening, to be honest.**

**Yeah I know, I know, it's Saturday, I'm a few hours early and I can hear you all groan 'Oh my gooood, it's her again...'. **

**Well. I can't help it. I love you guys. So that's why you get the next chappy. To all the people out there having the luck to be on the 'Salute To Supernatural' convention in LA this weekend: have tons of fun and enjoy the boys! Geez, I'm so jealous!**

**Anyway, here's chapter 13, I hope you like it.**

**As always, SPN doesn't belong to me yadda yadda...you know the drill.**

**And I'm currently canoodling my Beta for still reading my output. Hun, thank you for keeping me on the longest leash so I can let my muse unfurl and thank you for holding that leash tight enough so I won't fly over the roof. And thanks for reminding me the whole time that my baddy is half blind!  
**

**Enough! Time to read!**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Sam was tall and equipped with, like Dean would say, freakishly long legs. Were he needed three strides to reach something his brother or someone smaller would need five or six. Still, he had to widen his strides to stay close behind Hel, who had stomped out of the village like a man possessed and didn't seem to consider to decelerate his march.

The young Winchester didn't even need to question his fellow hunters rage. Something was not right. That old Indian had given him the heebie-jeebies yards away but when he had talked to him face to face, Sam had resisted the urge to pull his jacker closer. The icy aura around the man had reminded him of cold spots when handling a ghost. Not only the behavior of the guy had been dismissive, the air around him had been too.

And that eye patch? Okay, those things were already creepy under normal circumstances on a normal face, but in combination with the old Indian? Could the fact that Hel had shot an arrow into the Thunderbird's eye and the old Indian living alone in a deserted reservation wearing an eye patch on his right side be coincidence?

He doubted it.

Sam's musings were interrupted by a shout from behind.

"Guys, would you slow down! Where the hell are you going? And why so fast?" Patrick cried. Being the smallest of the three, he struggled to keep up with Hel and Sam, who were a few yards ahead of him. Hel rounded a huge bedrock and stopped behind it, threw his bag on the ground and ran a hand over his face.

"Relax, kiddo", he panted, "I just wanted to bring some distance between us and that guy."

Sam passed the older man and leaned against the rock, absentmindedly letting his head softly bang against it repeatedly. He stared into the woods, his gaze roaming over the tree trunks. Patrick stopped beside him and let himself drop down on his butt.

"Did you guys feel that, too?" he asked, scraping the ground with his boot.

"Define 'that'. The atmosphere around that freak that let my toes freeze or the fact that he was lying straight in our faces?" Hel pulled a bottle of water from his bag and took a huge sip.

"Well. Both, I guess. I've never felt something like this before." Patrick shuddered and looked up at the other two. "So, what now? Are we giving up?"

"No", Hel and Sam answered him in unison. The younger Winchester pushed himself off the rock wall and started to pace.

"Hel, is it possible..." he began, "Are Thunderbirds able to alter their appearance? Like, for example, become human?"

"Do you think what I think, Sam?"

Sam fixed his gaze on Hel and nodded determinedly. "Guess so."

As if on cue, Hel's cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID and put the device to his ear, looking at Sam with an expression that said 'Let's see what the expert has to tells us.'. "Hey Bobby, this is Hel. What have you got?"

Without noticing, Sam started to bite his fingernails. He needed to sort his thoughts and plan with the new situation. They weren't sure yet, it was still just an assumption, but if the old Indian they had just encountered was really the Thunderbird, they would head right back, off the guy and scratch that task from their To-Do-list. And when Hel's gut feeling wasn't playing tricks and the old man was indeed lying, then Dean might be somewhere in that village.

Sam just hoped that they weren't too late.

He thought back to the first conversation he had with Hel about the Thunderbird's eating habits. Or rather, it's pre-hibernating routines.

_'It needs to build up stocks in order to survive. And as we have the end of September it needs to build up it's stocks now.'_

Sam wondered if this was even necessary for a creature that was able to change into a human being. Wouldn't it be much easier to just move into the city during the winter instead of slaughtering hikers and tourists? He just couldn't wrap his head around the thing's mindset. And still, it was the last straw he could clutch at, the only reason that Dean might still be alive.

_Because he's food for a hibernating king-size mythical bird. Just awesome._

"Okay Bobby, thanks, we owe ya", Hel ended the call and raised a clenched fist, "Bingo!"

"Are we right?" Sam asked, looking expectantly at his indian friend.

"We are. It can alter human appearance. And from what Bobby found out it's mortal as long as it's human. Which means for us to get the hell out of there the second it starts to turn."

"Anything else he found out?"

"He told me about the lore. According to the legend two Indians were traveling north on their search for the origin of thunder. One of them got squashed by a mountain, the second one got through. On the other side of the mountain that Indian found a large plain with a group of wigwams and a number of other Indians playing a ball game. After a while these players disappeared into their wigwams to put on wings. They came out carrying bows and arrows, said 'It's time to go' and flew away."

Hel paused as a snort erupted from Patrick and the young man shook his head in disbelief.

"Anyway. The remaining old men wanted to help the lone Indian on his search for thunder. So they put him into a huge mortar and pounded and hit him so that all his bones were broken. Then they moulded him into a new body with wings."

"What happened then?" Sam asked, shaking himself to get rid of the goosebumps on his skin. This might be a legend, but when the Thunderbird was real, then so was the bone breaking ceremony. Who does that?

Hel shrugged, "The Thunderbird needed to fight against another huge bird or something like that, Bobby only touched on that topic. But at least now we know that it is possible that this freak and the Thunderbird are the same creature."

"Which's still no convincing proof", a voice from behind interrupted.

Hel glared at Patrick who sat on the ground, poking at the soil with a stick. "What's that suppose to mean?"

Patrick threw the stick away and stood, "Well, that guy could just as well be an old lonely Indian living in an abandoned reservation. We can't be sure if he's that thing."

Before Hel could open his mouth for a counter-argument, Sam spoke up. "He's right, Hel. We need to be 100 percent sure before we act. So how about we wait for the darkness to come and check that village out again. I want to search the cabins for any sign of Dean. And maybe we get more evidence on our hunch."

Sam gave his friend an acute glance, silently begging him for his consent, to wait and see. If they would rush things now and burst into the lion's den unprepared, not only would one or maybe all three of them get killed in the process, it could cost Dean's life, too.

Hel nodded, "You got it. But we need to gear up. Double-check the weapons..."

"What the hell...look at the clouds!"

Patrick's startled yelp caused Hel to break his speech off and the three hunters looked into the sky. They watched through the sparse canopy as the few former small cloudlets increased their size in seconds, growing bigger and bigger, changing from puffy cotton-wool clouds into one massive, dark mountain range. Soon the dark blue sky vanished completely and the sun was swallowed as a whole, tinting the woods in an unnatural shade of gray-green.

Instantly, a wind got up, starting as a light breeze but gaining strength and incalculability within seconds. The huge trees began to sway to and fro, the whooshing of the river in the distance drowned out by the rising rustling of the leafs and branches.

A rumbling thunder rang out and the forest lit up as a vivid flash of lightning crawled over the sky.

"That's him, right?" Sam shouted over the noise. "Guess someone's a bit pissed." He put his collar up and ducked his head, narrowed eyes darting around.

The three hunters shrank away and pressed themselves against the wall of the rock formation as flat as possible to avoid providing the storm with a target, protecting their faces with their arms and jackets.

"We need to get some shelter", Hel commanded, his voice carried away by the boisterous wind. He cried out in pain when something hit his face.

"Hel? You okay?" Sam shot his friend a worried look, watching as Hel dabbed at a bleeding gash on his forehead.

"I'm good. Back to the village, boys, NOW!" With that, the Indian grabbed his bag from the ground and started to run, followed by a big-eyed Patrick and Sam bringing up the rear.

Somewhere near them, a loud crack signaled the snapping of a branch, then another one. Twigs, roots and dirt had formed stray bullets and even the tiniest fir needle hurt like hell when it stroke the sensitive skin of the face.

The village came into view just as a huge tree in front of the trio was struck by a bolt out of the blue. The sheer force of the lightning cleaved the solid trunk of the pine vertically in two massive parts which gaped open and tilted like the knifes of a slowly opening scissor.

Sam screamed. He shouted Patrick's name, yelled after Hel, both seemingly oblivious to the looming disaster. Eyes darting frantically from the falling tree parts to his two friends running ahead of him Sam considered to outpace them, pull them out of the way, throw himself onto them. But he knew that he'd never be fast enough, could never reach them in time.

With one final cry of desperation he skidded to a halt, landing painfully on his back. Sam ignored the shock of his body because of the rude landing and the fact that he couldn't draw a breath for a second and rolled on his belly, his arms over his head.

He didn't know where the trunk halves would impact, couldn't pinpoint their steering lock angle; if he had managed to stop in time or if he would soon be squashed by one of it. For a single moment, he just didn't care. He only prayed to god that both his friends, Hel and Patrick, were far enough away from ground zero.

After what seemed like an eternity to Sam, but in reality took less than thirty seconds from the lightning strike to the impact of the trunk halves, he got his answer. The roar of the pine and the crunching noise of wood when it hit the ground was accompanied by a blood-curdling scream.

* * *

God, his head hurt. It was as if the ever present throbbing he felt had found a lodger, only that this guy had another rhythm. So now he had two different drum solos pummeling on his brain instead of one. Just peachy.

Dean rolled his head and regretted the motion instantly, a low moan escaping his chapped lips. The searing pain in his temples soon made way for his old friend nausea, the urge to throw up getting almost too strong to fight it. Inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his parted lips, Dean tried to stay calm. Damnit, that sucked. Out. Loud.

He was shivering, despite the heat that radiated from his skin. The fever was back, his shoulder felt once again as if it was burning. He had felt better before, why was he getting worse again?

After long agonizing minutes, Dean pushed his pain and discomfort as far back as he was able to and concentrated on his current screwed-up situation. He lay on his back, which was a good thing right now because he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep himself upright if he were. The surface he lay on was hard and cold, which meant he wasn't on the couch anymore.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly, expecting bright daylight to blind him or at least a simple light bulb over his head as he didn't know if it was night or day. He was surprised to find himself in an unfamiliar room, similar to a cellar – as dark and as humid. The only source of illumination being a fair amount of torches, allocated in the huge room.

When his mind started to clear up, he tried to remember what had happened. _Aw. Right. The indian nutjob. Speaking of..._ Dean's eyes shot open and he turned his head once again, this time more carefully and slowly. He tried to get a glimpse of the dark corners, expecting someone or something lurking there. When he didn't catch any movement nor could he make out any suspicious shapes in the shadows, he allowed himself to relax a bit. He was alone, Tahkeome nowhere in sight.

Tentatively Dean tried to move and was mildly surprised that he couldn't. The intention of pulling his hands up was shattered by something soft, tightly bound around his wrists and upper arms, fixating him to some kind of pedestal that felt kinda rough and crumbly under his fingers, a bit like sandstone or dried clay. It didn't feel like rope or chains, and that gave Dean some hope. Ropes were a bitch to get free from, chains were nearly impossible. Anything else might be within the realms of possibility.

With a single, forceful tug of his legs Dean realized that his ankles and thighs had suffered the same fate as his arms, bound to the surface and held immobile. He even felt a strap around his chest, making it impossible for him to move just an inch. Plus, it made it harder to breath, the broken ribs grating against each other and pushing themselves deeper into Dean's lungs with each intake of air.

"Freakin' son of a bitch!" the Winchester cursed loudly, his hoarse voice resounding from the walls. He let his gaze wander further over the walls and the ceiling, trying to figure out where the heck he was. At the other end of the cellar he spotted some kind of hallway, only that it looked more like a cave. Come to think of, the whole room looked like that, the walls being uneven and dark. Were there roots sticking out?

"Holy crap, I'm below ground level", Dean breathed, the fact hitting the panic button and making him dizzy for a second. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to calm down again, to freak out now wouldn't help now.

Just when he felt the urge to trash and scream in order to free himself from his bonds, a detail from seconds before him passing out flashed through his mind and grounded him immediately.

The three figures he had seen coming towards the house he had been held. One of them suspiciously looking like Sam.

Was this even possible? Could it really have been his Sammy? Had Ellen called him after she'd gotten worried and Sam, being the mother-hen and all, had driven all the way out here and look for him in this wilderness? Had Patrick managed to find help and got his brother here?

"Nonono, Dean, you're losing you're freakin' marbles here. Get a grip" the Winchester scolded himself angrily, shaking his head and cursing instantly when the rash motion threatened to burst his brain.

He had lost track of time, he didn't know how long it had been since Patrick had gone to get help. And even if he had, how could he get his little brother here that fast? Sam was supposed to be in California by now, unpacking his meager belongings, having a little chat with his new neighbors. Hopefully a sexy chick with enough stocks that Sam could ring at her door and ask for milk, eggs, flour every day.

But it was so easy to think about it, so comfortable and warming to build up hope. If Ellen had told him about the vantage point, than Sam had at least a clue where to begin his search. And from the way it looked, he had some help from others. He couldn't make out the other two, the distance had been to wide. If they've been hunters or rangers, he couldn't say. So how could he even be sure that the taller one of the trio was indeed Sam?

And that was the point. He just couldn't. The distance too far, the window too dirty and his mind too tired and messed up to get a clear view.

Aw crap. What if they had met that Tahkeome freak? Did they become suspicious? Or, worse, did he? What if those guys, hopefully not Sam, were really looking for him and Tahkeome had killed them so he could keep Dean for his sick whatever he wanted to do with him? Or had injured them? Had them for dinner?

Crap. Crap. Crap. He couldn't think about this.

And if it really was Sam, Dean would have his hide for hiking through those crappy woods, no question without proper equipment and provisions, a crazy chicken wheeling over his head and no clue where to look for him. Just pure Sam, out of his mind with worry and into the mess without a plan. Baby brother to the rescue.

Thinking about clues, had he and Patrick left any trails? Damnit, footsteps, breadcrumbs, anything at all that might help? Jesus, they hadn't. The footsteps were surely washed away by thew rain and God, he wished he had had breadcrumbs instead of those huckleberries.

Dean wondered what the last time was he had something to eat. Not that he was hungry, the fever and the pain killing his appetite off completely.

His musings were interrupted by approaching footsteps, echoing from the cave-like hallway. Dean raised his head, clenching his jaw against the lightning searing through his skull and watched the dark entrance to his personal cellar for the person walking toward him. When Tahkeome appeared from the shadows, the bound man dropped his heavy head carefully and groaned.

"It's you again. Somehow I hoped you might have gotten too high from your magic herbs and cracked your skull open because you fell from the toilet seat. Oh, wait, right. You don't use something like that, do you."

Tahkeome walked up to Dean and stopped beside him, watching his captive and smiled.

"You are right, Dean. I don't use something like that. And you won't need it anymore, too. Once you're a Wak'âdia, you will understand. You will see why it isn't necessary to own such things."

Dean glared up at the man, hating the way he was forced to look up at him. The older Winchester tried to mask his unease and fear, hid it behind an icy stare. Dean's jaw was clenched so tightly that for a second he feared that he'd of a cramp. Once again he tugged at his bonds with all his might, but he knew it was no use. The way Tahkeome watched him was freaking him out, that almost loving smile as if he was looking at a newborn baby or a extra cute puppy.

"Okay. Cut the crap, red man. Where the hell are we? And what's the plan, huh? You're going to let me rot down here until I turn to dust? Like, a return-to-nature kind of thing?" Dean licked his lips, his glare never wavering.

"Almost right. And to answer your other question: we are as close to the earth as it is possible for man." With that, the Indian reached out and laid a hand on Dean's chest right over his heart.

"What the hell..." the younger man started to protest but was cut short when a jolt ran through his body. He hissed and his panic grew when he watched Tahkeome, who had closed his eyes, his face scrunched up as if in pain.

"We do have so much in common, Dean", Tahkeome whispered, "We love too much. You and me, we love so much that we have let the ones we love go so that they can have the happy life they wish for. Even if it means that sorrow and longing destroys us who have been left behind."

"Take your...filthy...paws away", Dean ground out, struggling against his bonds, the pressure and heat on his chest getting too much for him. To his surprise, the old man took his hand away and stepped back, the painful expression once more changing into an understanding countenance.

"Your brother is here, you know."

The panting suddenly got stuck in Dean's throat and he gazed up at Tahkeome with wide eyes. _No. No way._

"In fact, he is a fine young man. Very polite. And he is worried. He cut across the woods for you, searching for his big brother."

Dean stared into Tahkeome's face and looked for any sign that the sick bastard was lying. Messing with his head. Trying to break him. But deep in his heart, Dean knew that the man was telling the truth. He had seen right. It had been Sam out there. He even felt that his kid brother was near.

_Please. Let him be okay. Let him be okay._

The Indian walked around his captive slowly and lowered himself so that his mouth was beside Dean's ear.

"But he left you and now it's too late" he breathed, "He gave up on you. And now you are mine."

Tahkeome stood again and turned away, out of his captive's line of sight. Dean trashed and struggled, wanted nothing more then to rip the guy's tongue out, wanted to pummel him, smash his head against the walls as long and as hard as possible so that his brain would be united with his beloved, freakin' piss poor earth.

"What..." Dean croaked, his breathing coming out in short gasps. He swallowed hard and tried again, "Where is he? What did you...do to him? I swear...if you did anything..."

"Your brother is a big boy, Dean. If he is able to look out for himself, nothing will happen to him."

"What's that...supposed to mean?"

Suddenly the old Indian was back beside Dean, smiling again down at him. "Now you need to calm yourself. I am truly sorry about the restraints, Dean. But I see that you have yet to learn that my intentions are not wicked. It is rather a gift I am willing to pass on to you."

Dean swore and cursed, pulling at his restraints until he felt his wrists start to bleed. When Tahkeome held a huge white feather up for him to see, he froze.

"Wanna...tickle me...to death?" the Winchester asked with a trembling voice, far from being in the mood for smart remarks but needing it to cling to his last bit of sanity. When the old man gripped his arm and pushed the sleeve up, Dean began once again to free himself frantically.

"Man fears snakes and the poison they carry. But the right poison to the right time is a blessing."

With that, Tahkeome stabbed the sharpened quill into Dean's crook of the arm with full force. A single scream tore from Dean's throat, pushing his head into the surface he lay on, his upper back arching as far as it was allowed to while being restrained. A stream of boiling lava crawled up his arm, spreading out from his shoulder and numbing part over part of his failing body. Dean's gasps got even shorter and more forceful, reminding the younger Winchester of his punctured lungs once again. He tried to speak, to yell, to howl, the only sounds escaping his lips being strangled gasps and whimpers.

Tahkeome appeared in his blurred line of sight, still wearing that grin on his face. "Don't worry. This is for your own good. Trust me, you don't want to be fully aware of the ceremony."

Dean didn't know how long he lay there, writhing and trashing like a stranded fish. He felt the poison creep through his veins, every beat of his heart spreading the acid-like liquid further in his body. Black tentacles crept into his vision, clawing at his sight and beckoning him into darkness, that just refused to come.

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**To be continued...**


	14. Chapter 14

**Good night to you all there!**

**No big words from me tonight as I have my lovely parents sitting in my living room and as I don't want to miss a thing they do and say, I just put this chappy online and hope you'll enjoy!**

**I wish all of you happy easter holidays! My honeypie, I'm going to miss you on Tuesday, but you have earned every single spare second!**

**As always, SPN and it's characters belong to Master Kripke and the CW...**sigh****

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**Chapter 14**

Sam's head shot up and his gaze was met with the bark of the pine's trunk that was lying a few feet from his face. After a few deep breaths to calm himself down again he heard someone urgently call his name over the rumbling of thunder and the whooshing of swaying trees.

The younger Winchester sprang into action immediately, scrambling up from his sprawled position on the ground and climbed onto the tree half that had missed him by a hair's breadth.

"Oh no", he breathed, his shoulders slumping before he slid from the trunk as if in trance and fell onto his knees after four long strides, next to a writhing and howling Patrick and a desperate Hel, who tried his best to keep the struggling hunter from hurting himself further.

Patrick lay on his stomach, his hands clawing frantically at the dirt and debris on the ground, the sharp fir needles and twigs digging themselves into the kid's fingers and hands. His cries of pain were muffled, but not less awful to listen to. Sam wasn't sure if it were just random noises and sounds of pure agony coming from the kid, or if he was actually calling something or someone.

A huge, thick branch of the fallen pine lay across the younger man's small of the back, nearly squashing him. Running his hands down Patrick's body, Sam discovered that a smaller branch had embedded itself into his thigh, an alarming amount of blood seeping from the wound staining his pants and the ground around him.

The second alarming detail Sam noticed was the fact that Patrick was struggling like a mad man but his legs remained still.

"Damnit kid, you need to calm down!" Hel shouted, pushing Patrick's flailing arms and hands down, "We've gotcha, you hear me? You'll be fine...stop moving, Patrick!" He looked up at Sam, his eyes betraying him, showing Sam how desperate and bewildered Hel really was. Warm brown eyes pointing out how heavy shit had hit the fan.

A deafening thunder erupted over the men's heads and a few feet away the cracking of wood signaled the still existing danger of overthrowing trees and falling limbs.

"Sam", Hel shouted, flinching when debris and dirt hit his face again, "we need to bring him to safety. Shit, all of us need to get into safety..." He ducked down when another crack sounded from above.

"How are we suppose to do that, we can't move him!" Sam yelled back, the biting wind swallowing and carrying his words away the second they left his lips.

"We leave him here, he dies. I'd prefer to risk the movement and get him outta here alive."

Patrick's screams had abated and had gotten replaced by heartbreaking whimpers and grunts. Sam's gaze jumped from him to Hel's face and back, considering their options.

It's the first thing you learn at every random first aid course, it's something every child knows and it's one of the lessons Sam had learned at a very young age from his dad. Never move a person with an injured back. But Hel was right. They could leave Patrick here, cover him with a jacket which may stay in position for about five minutes tops before the wind would rip it away, and could hope that the other dangerously swaying trees around them would keep doing exactly that: sway. And not overthrow. And maybe Patrick would be lucky and no other flying tree limb would squash him to death, while Hel and Sam would be long sitting in a cabin, sheltered from the storm, praying that they're younger companion would survive the weather and his injuries.

No way.

Sam crouched down further, laid one hand on the back of Patrick's head and gripped his shoulder with the other. Speaking in a low, soothing tone into the younger man's ear, his voice trying to fight against the roaring nature around them.

"Patrick, it's Sam. Can you hear me, man?" He pulled his head back, staring at the kid's shivering form, searching for any sign that Patrick had indeed heard him and was lucid enough to answer. When a jerky nod confirmed his hope, Sam gave a small smile in relief.

The younger Winchester cast another glance at Patrick's unmoving legs. Maybe there was nothing wrong at all. Maybe he just didn't want to move them right now. Maybe Sam was getting paranoid and his mother-hen-gene was just trying to grab some attention. Maybe it wasn't that bad at all.

Loads of maybe's here, though.

But at this very moment Sam couldn't think of a method to confirm his fear. Sure, he could pinch the younger man's shin or stab his other, yet unscathed thigh with a knife and ask if he had felt that. And wouldn't that be pushing Patrick's panic button with a sledgehammer.

No. For the time being he had to live with those worries and stow them in a far corner of his mind, right beside the fear for Dean, because now they had to get away from here. Fast.

"Okay, kiddo. Let's get out of here, shall we?

Another jerky nod and the younger Winchester looked up at Hel, who had already moved down to Patrick's side, inspecting the branch sticking in his thigh. The older hunter let his head fall back and ran a hand over his face, the gestures in combination with his expression telling Sam that this was not easy on the experienced Indian.

Sam lowered himself again, "I'm right here, okay? Try not to move too much." After another small whimper Patrick went completely still, the only indication that he was still conscious being his hands, hovering half an inch above the dirty forest soil, fingers outstretched as if to say 'I'm not moving, see?'.

Hel and Sam got up, the increasing wind making it harder to stay upright. Planting his legs far apart to withstand the force of nature, Sam gripped his side of the branch resting across Patrick's back and waited for Hel to mirror his stance. On one single nod from the older hunter, both men lifted the heavy limb carefully, never letting the injured kid out of their sight. A hiss and a small strangled whimper didn't go unnoticed by them, but Hel and Sam lifted the piece of wood without further hesitation and threw it away with a final strain.

Kneeling down and resuming the soothing touch of Patrick's hair, Sam tried to assess the damages and their next step. He watched as Hel took off his jacket and shirt, put the jacket on again and prepared the shirt for it's new purpose.

"I'm going to pull that thing out", Hel explained, not looking up from his quick work on the shirt, "you try to staunch the blood flow as good as you can with that, Sam. Then we get our asses into one of the cabins, I pray to God they're open or at least easy to crack. Once we're there we can administer proper first aid."

"Got it", Sam answered, taking the balled up garment while Hel took position beside the stuck piece of wood, inspecting the limb and the wound, probing at both with so much care that the younger Winchester was stunned and in awe at the same time.

They had to act quick. Sam would have never thought that he would ever be happy about the fact that someone was not able to feel his legs. But right now it was a real blessing, for all of them, the only acute problem at hand being the blood loss when they'd remove the branch from Patrick's thigh, not the pain he would feel beyond question if he would be able to feel.

"Ready when you are!" Hel shouted, looking determinedly at Sam, already grasping the limb firmly. The younger Winchester patted Patrick's shoulder blade softly and shifted forward.

It wasn't a pretty sight and somehow Sam's mind struggled with the fact that Patrick neither twitched nor did he let out a single grunt when Hel pulled the massive tree limb from his body. Thanks to the rumbling of thunder and the booming storm around them, the sounds of the foreign body leaving the flesh wasn't audible, seeing the whole damage was already enough, though.

Forcing himself keep a straight face, Sam pressed the prepared shirt onto the blood gushing hole in Patrick's thigh. Seconds after he already felt the warmth seep through the makeshift bandage.

"Damnit!" he hissed, "Hel, your belt! We need to hurry up!"

"I'm on it!"

Sam watched as Hel yanked his brown leather belt from his pants and put it around Patrick's thigh above the wound, pulling it painfully tight. He then crouched on a level with the injured hunter's chest.

"Patrick, it's your old friend Hel speaking, I'm going to pull you up now, okay? Just relax and enjoy the ride."

Wincing at Hel's put-on cheerfulness Sam tied up the wrapping and helped to roll Patrick onto his back and in a seating position. The younger man's face was tear-streaked, his lips a thin line. His eyes were closed, exhaustion and agony clearly written on his scrunched-up features.

Laying an arm over his shoulders and pulling the young man up from the ground into a fireman's carry Hel adjusted the extra weight on his broad frame and started to walk towards the village, following Sam who had grabbed the bags and was now sprinting ahead.

The storm was still raging angrily, the hunter's exposed skin scratched and bruised by whirling dirt. Behind them, trees threatened them with angry creaks, a loud crack announcing the falling of another one.

A few feet away from the first cabin Sam quickened his run and used the gained speed for a forceful kick at the door, relieved when the solid looking piece of wood gave way and flew inwards, leaving splinters in it's wake. The tall hunter dashed inside, dropped the bags and rummaged frantically for the first aid kits. While he did so, he let his eyes wander, a tiny jolt of delight flashing through him at the sight of an old grayish mattress on the floor. Not one bit inviting, but better then nothing.

Grabbing the two small kits Sam rushed to his feet when Hel entered the cabin with the precious cargo and slammed the door closed behind them, the noises from outside muted in an instant.

"Home Sweet Home", Hel panted and dropped onto his knees in front of the mattress, Patrick's limp form sliding slowly and carefully from his shoulder. Sam had grabbed the injured man's head and laid it gently on the soft ground, surprised to see Patrick's brown eyes open and his mouth forming a small, albeit painful smile.

"What a bitch of a day", he forced out, his pale expression once again scrunching up in agony.

"I hear ya", Sam answered, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards despite the royally fucked up situation.

He couldn't have said it any better. Actually the whole last days had been a mess so far. First hearing a story about Dean being dead, then learning that he was alive, but MIA in one of the biggest national parks of America with an infection spreading through his body from a wound a giant bird had caused and the one or other rib skewering his lungs. Not to forget a pointless fight with said bird with the free gift of a nearly drowning experience. Then meeting a loopy old guy that could change into said bird, had the ability to control the weather and for sure was holding his brother as a hostage somewhere. And finally being nearly torn to shreds by an odd storm and Patrick being slayed by a tree.

Oh yeah, that was definitely a bitch. Of a week.

"What...something's wrong, right?" Patrick asked, his huge glassy eyes burning through Sam, searching for a honest answer, an answer at all. "I can't...are my legs still there? Sam?"

Hel froze in his administrations and glanced up, biting his upper lip. Sam clenched his jaw and wanted nothing more then to look away, change the topic, tell Patrick that everything would be okay.

_Here we go. There's your confirmation._

"Your legs are where they're suppose to be, it's fine, Pat", he replied, laying as much calmness and reassurance into his tone as he could muster. The pale, sweaty face staring up at him didn't seem to be convinced.

"Then why...why can't I feel a thing? Sam? Hel? Please. I can't...there's no feeling...oh God..." Patrick began to struggle again, tried to raise his head to see for himself, to see with his own eyes that his thighs, his knees, his chins and feet were there and unscathed.

Pushing the panicking kid down with all his might Sam grunted, "Please, let us help you. Patrick, you need to stay still..." but his effort was to no avail. The young man began to yell and lash out, tears running down his face once more.

Hel let go of the wounded thigh and lunged at the second first aid kit, pulling out a syringe and a small bottle. From the corner of his eye Sam saw him prepare the syringe, so he changed his hold on the squirming bundle to get a good grip on Patrick's arm, twisting it, the crook of the arm for Hel to reach.

Seconds after the clear liquid had left the chamber of the syringe Patrick's struggling began to slow down, his cries first turning into a slow slurring, then into a low moan. His features began to relax, the deep furrows vanishing. His body went limp, his flailing arms sinking onto the mattress. A minute after the injection a soft snoring indicated that the medicine had it's desired effect.

Sam let himself drop onto Patrick's upper body for a moment, taking a deep breath. Thank God at least one of their first aid kits was equipped with an intravenous anesthetic. Hel resumed his work on the injured thigh, his motions quick and diligent.

"Good I packed that stuff in", he murmured and began to wrap the wound.

"No stitches?" Sam asked, eyeing the tourniquet.

"Not possible. The wound's too torn, I'd need to cauterize it. And that's something I don't want to do unless it's really necessary."

Sam swallowed and glanced at Patrick's lax, peaceful face. "You think he's...I mean...paralyzed? The whole nine yards?" God, he sounded like Dean.

Hel pulled off the gloves and threw them into a corner. "I can't say. I know a few things about medicine and the human body, but in this case I have to pray."

With a curt nod, Sam lapsed into silence. Too many people had been hurt. Too many killed. The hikers. That hunter, Jason. And now he was searching for his brother and was dragging more people into this mess, this time Patrick being the one at the wrong end of the Winchester curse. They should have left him behind, should have called help for him. Damn, Sam should be here on his own, not risk Hel's life, too.

Sam shifted to get up, "You stay with him. I'm gonna search for Dean." He was met with two raised eyebrows and a shaking head.

"You don't. I won't let you go out there alone, have some meet and greet with that creepy wizard."

At that Sam let out a mirthless laugh. "I'm a big boy, you know?"

"I don't doubt that, Sam. But we're in this together, remember?"

A small surge of anger flared up within the younger Winchester. There was this guy, sitting in front of him, looking like his father and talking like his brother, acting in exactly the same way that had pushed Sam away from his family years ago. Treating him like a snotty-nosed brat.

"So. What's the plan? Because I can't afford to wait any longer, not when I know that Dean's out there in the hands of some disturbed creature, doing God knows to him as we speak."

"The plan is..." Hel replied, pulling his phone from his bag and holding it up, "...we call for help, get the cavalry here."

Sam shook his head vigorously, "No way. When the old crab becomes suspicious he might get pissed. I won't risk that." He threw a glance out of the window and paused. "How's your help suppose to get here anyway? With a helicopter? Through that storm?"

Hel's eyes followed Sam's nod toward the pane. "Touché", he muttered and began to push a few buttons on his phone, his reply being a tired beeping. "No need to argue further", he huffed and threw the device back in his bag, "Reception's gone. Because of the storm, I guess."

Snorting at their luck, Sam turned and ran both hands through his hair. Sure, he didn't want any sirens and rescue teams muddle through the nature, startle the whole forest, their target included. But they would need at least some paramedics for Patrick and for Dean, once they had gotten him out. And a medivac chopper to fly them to safety. _Oh yes, Dean will love that._

"Okay then. Back to square one. Plan B?" Sam turned to Hel.

"I'm all ears."

"Wait for the night. Make sure Patrick's safe. Find Dean. Kill that old Indian. The storm stops. Help can come."

The elder hunter sized Sam up for a few seconds, a favorably expression and a slight smile gracing his features, before he replied. "Sounds like a plan to me."

* * *

Making a mental note to himself to learn how to build an IV-line-kind of gadget out of a few items in natural surroundings Sam watched as Hel put a few tubes and band-aids together.

"MacGyver, huh?"

"Well. We can't have the kid wake up and ruin the show, can we. And because I forgot to bring an anesthetist today it's time for some bricolage." Hel untwisted a tiny wheel and the two men stared at the liquid flowing slowly from the bottle through the tube into the syringe that was connected with Patrick's vein.

"How long do we have until that bottle is empty?" Sam asked, still watching the liquid creep along.

"I can't tell you exactly. An hour, maybe two? We shouldn't take more time anyway, that tourniquet won't hold forever." Hel nodded at the bandage around the wounded thigh, the blood already slowly seeping through the white gauze.

"Then let's get moving." With that, Sam checked his weapons and the flashlight one more time before throwing a last glance at an oblivious Patrick. "Hold on, kiddo," he whispered before he laid a hand on the door handle, waiting for Hel to step up behind him.

Opening the wooden door the two hunters noticed instantly that the storm had waned. They were still wind-tossed and tiny particles of sand and dirt found their way into the men's faces and eyes, but all in all it now appeared more like a normal brisk wind, ridiculous compared to what they had witnessed before.

A rumbling thunder sounded in the distance, moving on. It had gotten dark, the sky not longer overcast and gray, but the darkest blue, almost black. The moon, waxing but not completely full yet, radiated a weak light and tinted the deserted village in different shades of midnight blue.

Under the screen of the beginning night, Hel and Sam stepped from the protection of the cabin, their backs pressed against the outer wall. They let their gazes wander over the many houses, every single one of them being dark and uninhabited.

"Where do we start?" Hel whispered, cracking open the shotgun in his hands and loading it with shells.

"If our friend holds Dean in one of the cabins", Sam replied, "I'm pretty sure he's chosen one of the houses in the middle of the village, not one in the outer area. But to make sure we don't overlook something, I suggest we split up for the first cabins."

"Alright. Careful, okay?" With that Hel lowered himself into a crouch and sprinted to the first cabin at the opposite side.

Sam took a deep breath, tried to catch a glimpse of something that might show him the way, a light from a lamp or a candle, a fire, smoke from a chimney. But there was nothing.

"I'm on my way, Dean", the younger brother breathed and adjusted the grip on his own shotgun before he, too, ducked down and crossed the path to the first house with long unerring strides.

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**To be continued...**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey folks, good to see you again!**

**A big thanks and a virtual hug to all of you who are reading and reviewing, I'm so glad the things I'm writing enjoys some popularity **wipes her sweaty brow** And you guys totally rock!**

**Another thank you to my lovely husband, who's helping me out with some medical and weaponry stuff. He's no specialist, but he's the type of guy who knows a bit of everything so if I'm asking him about how painful it might be to get a bone broken or how it's the best way to actually break one he knows. I wonder _how_ he knows...**scratches her head**  
**

**Honeypie, you already know you rule my world!**

**Now now, hope you like this one! Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 15**

He'd been barely a teenager when he'd been really drunk for the first time. Not just the happy-grinning and I-love-you-all-jaggedness, oh no. He'd been so blind drunk that he had just passed out at some point, only to wake up in some shabby motel room with his father hovering over him, an expression on his face that had told Dean immediately that he was in trouble. Big time.

The way Dean felt right now reminded him exactly of his condition all those years ago shortly before he had dropped after too much beer and heavy liquors. If he hadn't passed out back then, he was sure he would have felt exactly like that.

When the horrible pain after the injection with the quill had finally subsided, Dean's mind had resurfaced and seemed to be perfectly clear. Everything else, though, wasn't his own anymore.

He knew he was still lying on that pedestal...or should he call it altar? But he didn't feel his body touch it, as if he was floating a few inches above it. There was a strange rushing in his ears and he thought he heard someone walking, the shuffling of feet sounding muffled and hollow. He could see, although his sight was dulled, like he was staring at the ceiling of the cellar through a thick black veil. But at least he could move his eyeballs. Dean tried to blink, but noticed he wasn't able to do so. He expected to feel his eyes start burning, to protest the lack of tears to keep them from drying out, but nothing came.

Panic gripped him once again. What the hell? What did that son of a bitch do to him? He began to squirm, pulled on the restrains with all his might and yelled, for Tahkeome to get his ass here and do some explaining, for Sam, to get him the hell out of here.

Only that his body wasn't moving at all. And the only sound eliciting from his lips was a tiny whimper.

Suddenly Tahkeome's face appeared in Dean's severely limited line of sight. Would he have been able to, the Winchester was sure he would have flinched. Trying to lash out again to wipe the friendly smile from the old man's visage, cursing when he couldn't even twitch a single muscle, Dean kept on showering abuse on the Indian, his annoyance and fear growing when everything coming from his mouth being grunts and moans.

"I know, I know", Tahkeome began with a calming voice, "it is a strange feeling. But you will thank me later for using this. You would not survive the procedure if it weren't for that poison."

Procedure. What procedure was he talking about? _Waitwaitwaitwait..._

He held something up for Dean to see, some kind of small pouch, made from black worn leather. When the old man moved it toward the hunter's eyes, Dean renewed his efforts to break free, failing again. Tilting the small bag, a drop of something liquid inside the pouch dripped into Dean's left eye, letting his breathing hitch. Another drop landed in his right one, leaving the Winchester with the terrible urge to blink and a blurred view of his surroundings.

At least whatever the nutjob had dripped into his eyes, it didn't hurt. But it was an experience he really could have given a miss.

Dean hated the noises he let out, the whimpering and moaning pissing him off to no end, but as it was the only thing he could do, he would make use of it. Maybe he could annoy the freak a bit, get on his nerves.

The captured Winchester was beyond scared. The whole procedure/ceremony talking terrified him, the unnatural state he was trapped in made him nauseous and dizzy. Beside the fear for himself, he was worried about his brother. Thanks to the cryptic gibberish he had received he had no clue if Sam was safe or captured. Maybe in the same situation? Or already dead.

_No. Don't you dare think like that._

Dean knew he was breathing far too fast and that the only reason his lungs and ribs weren't protesting and killing him right away was the fact that he couldn't feel a thing.

_Geez, even when I get out of here alive, my lungs are goners, I know it._

"For your eyes", the Indian stated, holding the pouch up again, "as you are not able to blink, we need a little help to keep them moist."

Tahkeome put the pouch down and Dean wanted nothing more then to roll away from him when he held something else up. "You're bleeding", the Indian explained, his single eye looking worriedly at Dean's face. He lowered what looked like a rag and from the corner of his eyes Dean noticed that the old man was wiping at his mouth. The fact that he wasn't feeling a damn thing made his flesh crawl.

The rag came away bloody and Dean would have rolled his eyes if he'd been able to. _Oh yeah. Definitely goners. I'm so screwed._

"Don't be scared", Tahkeome said, "Your lungs, your bones, your whole self will be better, stronger. You will be immortal, Dean. You will be a mighty creature, able to protect what is yours without effort."

_Red tape, hippie. Not interested. _

Dean watched as Tahkeome rounded him, coming to a halt next to his left hand. The man then began to talk, to murmur in a language Dean had never heard, word after word stringing together to a eerie chant. Whatever the guy was doing, Dean neither saw nor felt it. When the Indian jerked a few times as if he was pulling a cork from a bottle of wine, Dean got suspicious.

"It is a gift that you don't feel what I'm doing", Tahkeome interrupted his chant, "It hurts me to do it. We don't know each other very well, Dean, but with the place you will take you are like a son to me."

_Like hell._

Suddenly Tahkeome held an arm up. Judging from the position and the bright sleeve Dean was sure it was his. But seeing a limb that obviously belonged to him, not feeling it was a sensation he never ever wanted to experience again for the rest of his life. No matter how long that would be.

Then everything went quick. One second Dean was wondering what the lunatic was doing with his arm, the next he swore his heart had just stopped beating as he watched the Indian twist his limb upwards and hit against his elbow with one quick, forceful motion.

The sickening crack that resounded in the cellar was followed by the sounds of Dean's surprised intake of breath.

* * *

The outer cabins had been a bust. Hel and Sam had checked five of the abandoned houses each, with no result. Every time the two hunters had caught sight of each other during their explorations, the gesture was the same: a head shake and a set jaw.

Sam knelt in the shadows of a bigger building, like a small barn, and waited for Hel to finish with his last cabin. 10 down, about 30 more to go. Fantastic.

He was so done with searching, waiting and elaborating. He wanted to take his guns, step into the moonlight and holler for the sick Indian to come out and play, wanted to storm into the cabins instead of tiptoeing around them. Needed to see his brother, make sure he was alright, alive. He was ready to carry Dean out of here, no matter how loud his brother would protest and swear his head off at the treatment.

But Sam knew they couldn't risk that. That freak might be old but he was still able to turn into the powerful and dangerous Thunderbird. A creature that, once arisen, was deadly and immortal, at least to their weapons. And with Hel speaking about the old Indian as a wizard of some kind, who knew what he was capable of in his human form. Sam doubted that the harmless, tottery appearance was his true face. How else had he been able to hold Dean captive for so long? His big brother might be injured and exhausted, but that doesn't meant he was helpless and tame. Once Dean had figured out what the man was up to, he would give his captor one hell of a time.

Unless he couldn't.

Sam nearly jumped from his skin when Hel dropped beside him, his fellow hunter landing on his butt and wearing a satisfied expression.

"Found something?" the younger Winchester asked, shifting and looking at Hel expectantly.

"I guess", the other man replied and laid a bundle in front of Sam's knees, switching his flashlight on and pointing it's beam at it. "What did you say was your brother wearing when he went missing?"

His breathing hitched in his chest and if Sam had been alone he would have started to cry. He spread the different pieces of fabric out, catching a familiar knife that dropped from one of the wadded garments.

"Where did you find those?" he asked, glad that his voice sounded normal despite the emotions boiling up in his chest.

"Behind one of the cabins in the middle. I went there to take a quick look and found them beside a pile of logs."

The happiness and familiarity warming Sam was short-lived, his alarm bells ringing and threatening to get the merry-go-round of thoughts into motion. But before his mind could form the many different reasons for Dean's clothes being thrown away, good or bad, he forced them back.

At least they knew now for sure that they were on the right trail.

He would not brood over this issue now. He would get his ass into gear and find his brother. A tiny part of his soul even craved for an injury on Dean the old Indian was responsible for, just a minor one, so Sam had a good reason to rip the sick fuck into pieces.

"Then let's start with exactly that cabin", he commanded in a voice one octave lower than usual. He put Dean's knife into the waistband of his jeans and laid his sibling's clothes carefully on the ground, before he crept into the darkness with long determined strides. Hel caught up with him and both hunters pulled their guns simultaneously in one smooth motion.

It took them less then two minutes to reach a cabin that was difficult to distinguish from the others, yet Hel signaled that it was the one. They rounded the wooden building silently, weapons drawn, coming to a halt beside a window. Backs pressed against the wall, Hel kept the surroundings in sight while Sam carefully tried to get a glimpse of the house's interior.

The pale moonlight shone through the small windows and illuminated the room slightly, yet it didn't help Sam to make out if someone was inside. He nudged Hel's shoulder and motioned to the door before he crept along the wall and stopped in front of it. Adjusting the shotgun he grabbed the door handle and turned it, slowly, wincing when a tiny squeak erupted from the old weathered mechanism. To his surprise it wasn't locked.

Catching Hel's eyes once again he carefully shoved the door open and slid his head forward, letting his gaze wander over the dark shadows inside the cabin. He debated over wether he should risk using the flashlight or not. If the old fuck was watching them, he would know their positions exactly thanks to the beams. Otherwise, if the guy really was some kind of wizard, he should already know by now that he had visitors. And maybe the intruders would lure him out of his hideaway.

Bring it on, you son of a bitch.

Sam entered the cabin and swung his shotgun, pointing into the the badly visible corners, resuming his position flat against the wall. When he found no threat present, he lowered the weapon and raised his flashlight, the strong beam crawling over the objects in the room. Hel had closed the door and stood beside Sam, his eyes following the beam.

In the middle of the room stood a battered couch, a blanket draped carelessly over the armrest. A few steps away from it a big table, littered with plants of some sort, some still fresh as if recently plucked, others long dried and already crumbling.

All kinds of smells wafted through the room; the smoke-dried odor of a fire gone out, the herbal scents of the different plants and greens from the desk mixed with a slight staleness the old cabin itself delivered.

Hel moved over to the fireplace, kneeling down in front of the ashes and grabbed some kind of handmade poker leaning against the wall. He raked through the pile of black and gray dust, while Sam stepped further into the room, his torchlight running along some pillows and colorful blankets on the ground.

He whirled around at Hel's astonished "Huh."

"What?"

"I always thought you use wood to keep a fire going." The older hunter turned slowly holding the poker up, a grayish rag dangling from it. Sam stepped up to his friend and inspected the odd piece that had obviously withstood the fire that was suppose to destroy it.

"Gauze", the young Winchester stated, snatching the remnant from the poker and turned it between his fingers. "Do you think he tended to Dean's injuries? Why would he do that?"

Hel's eyebrows shot up and he shook his head. "You know, that's a question I'm going to put on my list of other questions I'm going to ask that guy if I have him bound and gagged on the floor chewing dirt while he squirms under my knee."

Sam let out a humorless snort and threw the piece of gauze back into the cold ashes.

* * *

It took an amazing amount of time for Dean's mind to comprehend what he had just witnessed. Actually hearing and seeing a bone breaking was one thing. Knowing that it had been your own, was another. But not feeling it, was just beyond scary.

And Dean wasn't sure if he was able to keep himself from throwing up any longer.

_'You're a warrior.'_

_'Once you're a Wak'âdia, you will understand.'_

_'You have yet to learn that my intentions are not wicked. It is rather a gift I am willing to pass on to you.'_

_'I will make you a Thunderbird' _

The words jumbled together in his head, made him dizzy. Cold shivers seemed to creep along his insides, at the same time he felt as if a sudden heat threatened to suffocate him. This just couldn't be. He was not lying here, immobile, helpless, at the mercy of some wacko with the insane plan to bash his bones to splinters in order to turn him into some kind of oversized budgie.

Dean felt his emotions melt together, the wrath, the panic, the fear. They went straight through the roof when his struggles, his trashing and screams went completely unheard and unseen, thanks to the sedation. He felt like a boiler mere seconds away from bursting, but not able to.

Tahkeome seemed to notice his growing agitation and laid a hand on Dean's forehead.

And man, it felt so good not to feel that.

"You shouldn't have seen that", the old man said in a soothing voice, "It is better not to know what is happening."

Grunting and growling, the Winchester tried to draw back from the Indian, who reached out to Dean's eyes. Not succeeding, the panic spiked again. Not his eyes. His sight was the only reliable source now. Dean was sure he would have a heart attack when he wouldn't be able to see anymore.

The raw-boned, aged hand froze an inch over Dean's eyes and hovered there for nearly half a minute before Tahkeome pulled it back slowly without performing the task of closing them. Letting out a relieved whimper Dean didn't dare to look at anything else then the ceiling for nearly a minute before glassy seas of green slid sideways hesitantly.

Tahkeome stood, frozen to the spot, completely still, his one dark eye rolling in it's socket but seeing nothing, his head slightly tilted to one side. As if he was listening for something. And outgoing from the expression on his face he didn't like what he was hearing.

_Sam._

The name flashed through Dean's mind like a lightning bolt and he nearly let out a sob. He knew it was ridiculous to be so sure but somehow he knew. He just felt his little brother would come for him. The older Winchester kicked himself mentally for his naivety to believe the old crock's bluff, to fall for his words earlier.

His little Sammy was on his way, ready to kick some feathered ass. And once he was able to wiggle his toes again, Dean would be delighted to join him.

The old man suddenly fixed his gaze on the young hunter again and moved closer, far too close for Dean's comfort, the man's features showing a daunting mixture of pity and determination. "I am truly sorry, Dean", he whispered, "we need to pause the ceremony. It seems like your brother doesn't want to leave you with me."

If his facial features would have been up to it, the sick hippie would have gotten Dean's thought 'No kidding' blown up right in his wrinkled face.

"I am going to hide you", Tahkeome went on, "And I hope he will not force me to give you up."

Dean frowned at the last sentence, but before he could ponder over it any further, his surroundings tilted as he got pulled up into a sitting position. The sudden change in position earned him another argument with the ever present nauseating feeling lingering in his stomach, which he luckily won after a few wheezing breaths. Tahkeome stepped in front of him and gripped Dean's chin lovingly to keep his head from tipping onto his chest. Again the Winchester tried to jerk away from the touch but only succeeded in growling at his captor.

Another spinning sensation later Dean realized that he must have been hoisted over the Indian's shoulder, the view he had had on the cellar gotten replaced by black fabric directly in front of his eyes.

Dean wasn't sure if he should be pissed as hell about the fact that he was being carried like some kind of dead deer or uneasy because of the sudden change of events. Thousands of questions tumbled through his mind, the whirlwind of emotions never ceasing to rage on.

What if the freak turned into the Thunderbird again? Would Sam be able to defend himself against it? More so, would he be able to kill it? And why was he brought somewhere else? What did the lunatic mean by 'give him up'?

They must have started to move – not that Dean was able to feel it, but he watched the fabric, probably the back of Tahkeome's shirt, dance before his eyes. From time to time, when his head bounced softly because of the movement of his captor, Dean could make out a warm light illuminating the dark they were rushing through. Judging from the footfalls that resounded from the walls, they were currently walking through a cave-like corridor, Tahkeome lighting the way with one of the torches from the cellar.

The walk felt like ages and the soft garment of the Indians shirt tickled Dean's lashes. Forming a few expletives in his head, the young hunter started to blink against the annoying contact.

_Wait a minute. _

Hesitantly, fully concentrating on his eyes, Dean blinked again. Once. Twice. A third time. He quickened to bat his eyelashes until he was blinking furiously, like a hummingbird flapping it's tiny wings. Dean would have been whooping with joy if he would have managed. He was blinking again. God, had he ever been so happy to just open and close his eyes on his own will?

The freakin' sedation was finally waning. Maybe that was his chance. If the paralysis would retreat fast enough he could get Tahkeome before the wizzard got Sam. If it would take longer, he might at least be the surprise guest for the evening and he was so looking forward to see the old man's face when he would jump him from behind.

He just hoped his condition would allow him the escape.

Dean had no clue how his body was holding up right now. He'd been literally cut off from it for the last hour or two. Before he got to meet that freaky poison he hadn't been that super already, had felt the fever from the infection return. As for his lungs he just didn't want to think about that problem right now at all.

And last but not least Dean didn't know how many of his bones the lunatic had broken.

The slowing steps of his captor pulled him from his musings. The previous crunching that had accompanied Tahkeome's steps broke off and changed into quieter ones, the movement turning from walking to some kind of climbing. Then, a small squeak erupted from overhead, like a window or a door.

For a tiny, insane second Dean felt the terrible homesickness for his Impala.

Pushing the mental image of his Baby aside, the Winchester concentrated himself again on his surroundings. The musty smell that had wafted through the air was replaced by another musty odor, this time less dampish and more stale and dry.

A cabin. They had left the catacombs and were now entering a cabin, probably through some kind of trap door in the ground.

Tahkeome stopped and Dean's world tilted once again when he slid from the old man's shoulder onto the ground. The younger hunter began to run a mantra through his mind, , suddenly fearing that one unconscious bat of his eyelids would blow his secret and put him into a whole new world of trouble. To his luck Tahkeome hadn't brought the torch with him, so the only light was the moonlight invading the room through the windows.

Once again appearing in Dean's line of sight Tahkeome tilted his head and smiled at the young Winchester. "See you soon, Dean", he said, reaching out and seemingly stroking the hunter's hair, "At least, I hope so."

Before Dean was able to reply with an angry grunt, the old Indian turned and left, the soft steps dying away with each step he took away from his helpless captive. The click of a door opening sounded to Dean's left, another click seconds later signaled it's snap shut.

Then it was quiet.

For a moment Dean just lay there and listened. Some nocturnal sounds found their way into the cabin, a tired owl, some bustling crickets, the cracking of branches. Sounds that blended in with his heavy, rasping breathing, assembling a sicko mix tape to the mess that whole situation was.

Being sure he was alone, he blinked rapidly, just to make sure he still could. But it was still the only thing he was capable of right now. Once again trying to move his fingers or feet but learning that it was still not possible, Dean let his eyes wander over the ceiling and the room itself, tried to get a glimpse of it, see what he could use as a weapon, check the exits.

He needed to be ready.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hi all!**

**Not much rambling from me today, so on with the story. Hope you enjoy!**

**

* * *

Chapter 16**

Sam's flashlight wandered over the worn couch. He was slightly relieved about the possibility that the Indian had taken care of Dean. There were no blood stains on the old furniture, which gave him further hope. Still he couldn't think of the reason why the creature made such huge efforts to keep his prey alive. Because in the end that was what his brother represented, some snack for the lunch break.

The younger Winchester reached out and stroked the blanket that hung over the armrest, before he wrinkled his nose. "Geez, I hope he didn't cover Dean with that horse rug", Sam muttered and pulled his hand back, "it's like rolling naked on sandpaper."

He waved the flashlight over to where Hel was inspecting the herbs lined up on the desk and stepped over, looking over his friends shoulder.

"That's an amazing collection", Hel marveled and showed Sam a small twig with some half-dried leafs, "These are the leafs of the iporuru, a tree in the floodplains of the Amazon. It's used during shamanistic training and is also an ingredient in a hallucinogenic used by shamans in South America. And that..." he went on, holding a bunch of dried greens between thumb and index finger, "...Salvia divinorum. Comes from Mexico, was used for centuries for healing and religious ceremonies." He dumped the herbs back onto the desk and shook his head. "Man, the herbs you find on this table can do all kinds of things with you."

"How do you know all this? Medicine man in disguise?"

"My grandfather taught me something about it. Not much, though. It takes decades to learn at least the half of shamanism."

Sam opened his mouth to reply when suddenly a voice from outside switched the two men back into hunter mode instantly. Dropping into a low crouch and raising the shotgun, Sam pressed himself against the small cabinet underneath the desk, his eyes glued to the ceiling. Hel on the other side of the table mirrored his position, gun drawn.

The voice rang out again, this time closer to the cabin. Catching Hel's gaze and nodding, Sam slowly crawled over to the window and tried to catch a glimpse of the source, even if he already knew who was shouting for them.

He ducked again and looked over to his fellow hunter who seemed to know, too.

"It's him", Sam mouthed, his grip on the shotgun tightening. He could end this, once and for all, he just had to aim and shoot the bastard's head off. He might even be able to ignore the fact that he would kill a human – at least a human form. But as long as they didn't know where Dean was, they couldn't risk it.

"Sam!" The shout rang out again.

The younger hunter froze. He knew his name. Why the heck was that freak knowing his name? And why was he calling for him? Catching Hel's gaze again and nodding curtly, Sam got up from his position and walked towards the door, while Hel shuffled over to take his former place at the window.

The wizard was calling for him so he would get his fair share of Sam Winchester.

Taking a lungful of air, Sam stepped carefully from the cabin. Rounding the building, he concentrated on the concern and the worry he had felt for Dean, the grief and the self-loathing for being so selfish in the first place. He took all the pain that had wreaked havoc inside him the last few days and fed his anger and determination with it.

He slowed his steps when he spotted his enemy. The Indian stood on a wide space, a former market place of some kind.

His stance was relaxed, his arms and hands hanging loosely by his side. The black eye-patch looked like a black hole, yet the man's expression was friendly and everything but threatening.

Sam approached him and stopped a few yards away, the grip on the shotgun sturdy, his aim not wavering.

"Where is my brother?" he asked, his tone making clear that there was no room for bullshit.

Tahkeome put his hands behind his back. "Dean is safe."

"Not enough." Sam's voice was dripping with venom. "Where are you hiding him?"

"You should take your friends and go, Sam. Leave this place, leave my land, I won't harm you on your way back home."

"Fine. Let me get Dean and we're gone."

"No."

Sam felt himself boil over with anger and he had to take another deep breath to calm himself. He tilted his head slightly and gave the old Indian a humorless smile. "I won't repeat myself here, you know."

The other man mirrored Sam's expression, tilted his head as well. "Why are you making demands of something you left behind?"

Sam's breathing hitched in his chest. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I am talking about." Tahkeome bowed his head and began to pace, five steps in one direction, then turning and walking back. "When I found your brother he was torn. He loved, he missed, he wanted nothing more than to have the person that was once his life at his side again. But knowing that these times were gone, he tried to shake off all the feelings he had for you, to no avail."

"Shut your mouth", Sam growled, fingers adjusting the grip on the shotgun, "You do know squat about my brother, so stop talking about him right now."

"Oh, I know a lot. I know more than you do." Tahkeome chuckled and the younger Winchester wanted nothing more then to jump into his smug wrinkled face. How dared he to talk like that? What did he know?

"So, I ask again. Why are you making demands of something you left behind, Sam?"

Sam felt his eyes water up but resisted the urge to wipe at them, scolding himself for softening up now of all times. The freak was manipulating him. Was trying to knock him off course. He needed to keep his cool, otherwise they were all dead. He bit his upper lip until he noticed the coppery taste of blood on his tongue.

"Let him go."

"You are brothers. Your place is beside each other. If you wouldn't have left him in the first place you wouldn't be standing here, begging to get him back."

"I DIDN'T..." Sam hollered, but bit his tongue before he could rage on. He kicked himself mentally for letting the wizard get a rise out of him, for showing his enemy that he was indeed pushing the right buttons. Running a hand over his face he corrected the aim of the shotgun again.

"What do you want? Why is my brother so important for you?" he asked, unable to hide the slight tremor in his voice.

"He is a warrior. He is a protector. You of all people should know that. He will take my place."

Sam's eyebrows shot up, "What? You mean you want to turn him, so he can what, protect your land? Play some kind of almighty environmentalist for you? Nuh-uh, not gonna happen."

"Mind your tone", Tahkeome threatened, stopping his pace and glaring at the hunter.

"Look around you, old man", Sam commanded, his tone turning soft and reasoning, "No one's left. Your tribe is gone. What are you protecting? What are you still fighting for? The woods? The animals? The nature isn't as helpless as you think it is."

Sam shut his mouth when he noticed a change in the old man's face. Dark furrows ran suddenly over his cheeks and his forehead, the dark spot that was his eye began to glow in a blood red, a lightning pulsating through the iris.

"The nature will reclaim what's hers", the Indian rumbled, "We will make sure of it."

Taking a few steps back, Sam's alarm rang out. The witch was on the brink of turning and then everything would be lost. So he tried again with the reasoning tone, "Please. Let Dean go and we won't bother you any longer." The lie rolled from his lips easily and for a tiny second he thought he had succeeded in his efforts to allay the Indian's wrath when the red glow in the old man's eye faded, so did the black lines on his face.

Tahkeome tilted his head once more and shook his head, slowly, barely visible, but enough to let Sam's fury-o-meter spike into the . "I, too, won't repeat myself here, Sam. Go. Now. Take your men with you. Your brother is mine." With that, the old man turned around and started to walk away, leaving a dumbfounded Winchester in his wake.

It took Sam a moment to comprehend the stubbornness of his enemy and to contemplate his own next step, before he dropped his shotgun and pulled Dean's knife from his waistband in one smooth motion. He reached Tahkeome in three long strides, looped his left arm around the man's throat from behind and yanked him close, the huge knife coming to a halt at the Indian's jugular.

Tahkeome gasped in surprise, his boney hands clawing at Sam's forearm, while the younger Winchester pulled his captive closer, he lips barely touching the Indian's ear.

"You listen to me. I'm done with the kind words. What happened between my brother and me is none of your business. My reasons to leave are none of your business. And first and foremost, Dean is none of your business, either. So you sick bastard will show me where he is right now or I swear to god, or by the big Manitou if you like it better, I will kill you."

The Indian's gasps abated, his struggles stopped and Sam already feared he had accidently choked the man to death when he suddenly dissolved into giggles. Low, provoking, mirthless snickering erupted from Sam's hostage and the hunter had a hard time not to slam the knife into the freak's throat right away.

"Lucky you that I'm so funny", Sam growled and tightened his grip.

Suddenly the light breeze drifting through the village grew stronger again. Squinting against the whirling sand Sam hissed as dirt and debris hit his face. He realized that the hold he had on Tahkeome was loosening but before he was able to readjust his grip, the old man threw his head back and knocked Sam off balance.

Landing on his back, grunting in pain when all the air was forced from his lungs, he struggled to roll over on all fours, at the same time searching the ground for the knife that had fallen from his grip. Spotting it under Tahkeome's foot the younger man shrank away from the now upright standing Indian, who bent down and picked the weapon up as if he had all the time in the world.

Sam crab-crawled backwards slowly, never letting the witch out of his bleary sight. He cursed inwardly for his foolishness, for letting the wrath overpower his mind, for hesitating to kill the son of a bitch.

They were so screwed.

Tahkeome turned the sharp knife in his hands, eyeing the blade and stroking the hilt, before he switched his gaze once again on Sam on the ground.

"You should have just left, Sam", he stated calmly and threw the knife at Sam's feet, before he raised both arms and let his head drop backwards.

Sam gritted his teeth against the nipping wind and clenched his eyes shut, the flying sand and the tip of his hair stinging in his eyes, making it impossible for him so keep them open. He kept crawling backwards, one hand groping at the dusty ground for his shotgun.

He flinched when a shot rang out, then another. Opening his eyes to tiny slits Sam searched for the Indian, finding him standing at the same spot. Only that he wasn't really looking the same anymore.

Tahkeome still stood with both arms raised at his side. His black clothes hung from him in tatters, only that the fabric didn't seem to be torn to shreds by sheer force, but turning from garment to rags to huge feathers, changing their color from black into white and gray in a stunning metamorphosis. The moccasin-clad feet parted into four sharp talons, three bound forward, one rear-facing, each single claw a deadly weapon that meant business.

The man's proportions changed, the human body increasing it's size as a whole, some parts lengthen, other's shorten. The outstretched arms extended to the size of an enormous span, the human elbows thickening in order to withstand the strain of flying. The neck grew longer, head and throat melting together, the human face tapering and evolving a massive beak, long and sharp. The eye-patch vanished and uncovered a white, blind pupil.

Sam watched the transformation in awe, forgetting the wind and his surroundings completely. Only when a third shot resounded close to him, he woke from his reverie and jerked around. Strong hands out of nowhere gripped him under his armpits and hoisted the Winchester up.

"We're too late, come on, the cabin!" Hel shouted, maintaining a good grip on Sam's upper arm and half dragged the younger hunter towards the house they had inspected earlier. Stumbling, Sam picked the wayward shotgun up and ran after his friend, not daring to look back.

The men were still running when a scream erupted from the transforming Indian, at first still recognizable as human, but then changing into a shrill outcry of pure terror, combined with the sounds of rolling thunder and hundreds of voices resonating straight from the darkest corners of hell.

Sam was sure his head would explode. He yelped out in pain and threw his hands on his ears, losing the shotgun once more. Instantly he felt drained, all the strength leaving his limbs, his steps faltering. Crashing to the ground he landed painfully on his side and curled himself into a ball. He could hear Hel hissing and from the corner of his eye he noticed that his fellow hunter was also writhing on the ground, desperately trying to cover his ears.

On the verge of passing out, the terrible noise stopped. Stunned, Sam shook his head to get rid of the cobwebs lingering inside there. He grabbed his weapon, crawled over to Hel, who lay moaning on his back, grasping his friends collar and pulling him up hastily.

"Move it, Hel", Sam panted, switching his gaze from the man struggling to get up to the huge Thunderbird still standing on the unobstructed place. The enormous animal shook itself and took the time to clean the plumage with it's beak before it moved it's head in order to check the village for the escaped prey.

Sam identified the exact moment they got spotted by the glowing eye of the creation. It may had lost one, but the power outgoing from the one single iris hadn't been weakening. It felt as if he was touching a live wire, the current too weak to do damage, but enough to let his skin tingle and his hair stand up at the back of his neck. The air seemed to crackle. The animal ducked it's head and tilted it, it's huge wings beginning to flap before it let out a threatening croak and took a step forward, it's thick legs stomping through the sand and gravel. The steps turned into clumsy leaps, not high but wide, and soon the once wide gap between the mythical legend and the two hunters dwindled dramatically.

Gritting his teeth and dragging a disoriented Hel with him, Sam scrambled toward the cabin, the way to the wooden door never ending. He could hear the Thunderbird coming closer, could feel the electrical power fill the air, seemed to smell the musty feathers rustling behind him.

"Little help here", he gasped at Hel, who was still tripping on uncoordinated feet, posing a risk for the fleeing hunters, slowing them down dangerously. Sam readjusted his grip on Hel so he could drag him one-handed and raised the shotgun. He knew it was pointless to use the weapon on the thing, he would more likely piss it off some more instead of hurting it. But maybe he could buy them some time.

Sam tried to get a good aim at the Thunderbird's head, which was nearly impossible because of his unsteady steps while pulling an adult man with him, but he tried nonetheless. He emptied the shotgun's chambers, two rounds striking the bird's throat. The creature jerked and stopped, squealing in pain.

Continuing his retreat, Sam nearly cried out in relief when his back hit the outer wall of the cabin with a thud. Never leaving the still squirming Thunderbird out of his sight, he moved along the wooden structure as fast as he was able to with his stumbling charge, until he felt the open entrance underneath him. He slipped inside and with one final pull dragged Hel with him before he kicked the door closed.

Both men landed unceremoniously on their butts on the cabin floor, the noises from outside instantly being muffled by the closed entrance. Sam jumped to his feet and leaped over to the huge desk, trying to push the piece of furniture toward the door.

"Damnit", he grunted when the heavy table moved only a tiny bit, "Come on, come on..."

Suddenly Hel's appeared next to him, the older hunter looking a bit worse for the wear but smiling.

"Well, look who joined the fun", Sam stated, his face brighten up instantly.

"Yeah, sorry, that's the thing with old men, you know, they just can't handle loud noises", Hel returned and mirrored Sam's position at the desk's end. Together the hunters pushed with all their might and moved the wooden piece furniture to the door, blocking it.

It had gotten eerily quite all of a sudden. The only sound was the singing of the wind through the slits of the old building. Scrambling into the middle of the room, leaning against the couch, Hel and Sam exchanged worried glances. The Winchester picked his shotgun up and discarded the empty shells, reloading it with new ones quickly.

"Damnit, I lost my gun somewhere between dragging you away from that freak and experiencing the headache of hell", Hel mumbled and held his head.

"Look who's talking about dragging someone away", Sam retorted, closing his weapon and clicking the safety on. "Seriously, you okay?"

The older hunter nodded, "Yeah, I'm good so far. What's wrong, why is it so quiet?"

"You ask me. Damnit, that bastard." Sam shook his head and pulled Dean's .45 from his waistband. He stared at it, twisting it slightly so that the cool metal was gleaming despite the weak light. The younger Winchester handed his shotgun over to Hel, "Don't loose this one, okay?"

Hel took the weapon and a few spare shells and turned his gaze to the ceiling. "I shot him. Got him two times before the transformation was over and a third time when he already gave off fluff. I wonder if it did any damage?"

"Didn't look like it. So, do we have a Plan B?" Sam looked at his friend. He was at a total loss. They had still no clue where Dean was and now the Thunderbird was on the loose as well. And he doubted that the creature would just march off and leave them alone. The silence made him nervous, an uneasy sense of foreboding spreading in his guts.

Hel snorted, "Yes, Plan B. I didn't realize that we had a Plan A."

Suddenly a loud crash from above caused the men to jump. The cabin shook slightly, the wooden structure creaking, a fine spray of dust trickling from the ceiling. Sam caught Hel's gaze and both hunters raised their weapons in unison, eyeing the dark panels above them. A scratching noise erupted from the ceiling, as if someone was dragging something over the roof.

Or something with talons was walking on it.

The mouthed 'Crap' Hel send over to Sam expressed very much the Winchester's thoughts. Neither men dared to breath or move, two pairs of hazel and brown following the scratching steps overhead. With every movement on the roof the cabin moaned and creaked, the dusty rain emerging from every slit and fitting edge.

Swallowing hard, Sam whispered, "What do you think? Is this building solidly built?"

"Hundred years ago, I'm sure it was."

The younger Winchester rolled his eyes and flinched when another crash rattled the house. The thing seemed to be right above them now and Sam forced himself to stay calm and not blast the whole clip of his gun right through the ceiling.

The scratching stopped and got replaced by what sounded like the forceful blow of a sledgehammer on the roofing shingles. Bone-jarring knocks, the gaps between the single impacts remaining absolutely constant like the beat of a song, it's volume increasing with every blow.

"It's coming inside", Sam breathed, staring at a spot on the ceiling where more and more dust whirled through the air. "Hel, we can't stay here."

"I believe you, but we can't go out there either, it'll kill us on the spot."

Another impact resounded from above, the crack being much louder than before, this time causing more splinters and debris to plunge on the cabin floor. Sam's eyes widened in horror as he watched a breach appearing in the roof.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello guys.**

**I brought some action. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 17**

He was able to move his face again. Scrunch his facial features into all kinds of ugly, relaxed, distorted. Even smacking his lips, gladly until they would go totally numb, was possible. He was beyond thirsty, his mouth dry and feeling as if it was stuffed with cotton. His tongue felt as if it was way too big to be in there, seemingly blocking his airway lying there lazily in his jaw. The skin on his face felt hot and tight. But right now, he couldn't care less. He could move. Finally.

Dean even tried to jiggle his ears, but had to dial it down a notch when they didn't so much as twitch. In fact he would have cheered with pleasure over his body's baby steps back to his former self.

He really would have, if the cacophony of gunshots wouldn't have penetrated the nightly silence.

First the wind had picked up. The old cabin Dean was lying in had began to creak under the strain of the natural force, the ramshackle building becoming a pawn of powerful gusts, wailing creeping through the frail leaky walls.

Then the shots had rung out. A small weapon, a handgun, maybe Smith & Wesson or similar. Two shots sequenced. Then a short pause, then a third one.

Dean lay there, tried to keep his breathing even and listened. For another gunshot, for voices, screams, shouts, the sound of a fight, anything that might be able to tell him what was going on outside. Damnit, they had found each other. The guns wouldn't help. Geez, Sam was shooting with a lousy gun at that creature. He remembered the awful screeches the Thunderbird had let out on the vantage point, the noises that had caused his body to shut down and had handed him and the others on a freakin' silver platter. Come to think of, the insane old fart sure had a soft spot for paralyzing other people, no matter in which form he showed up.

Sam didn't know all this. His little brother was running straight into a deadly trap, intending to kill that feathered monster with a flyswatter. And he was lying here, staring into space, unable to do anything except making funny faces.

The older Winchester tried to calm himself. He reasoned with his inner voice. No bird-like screeching so far. Maybe the old Indian hadn't been able to turn, maybe those shots had finished him off already and Sam was searching the area for him right now. Those gunshots? Dean made a mental inventory of the guns in the Impala's trunk and thought about the weapons Sam had kept for himself. The only Smith & Wesson they had was still in the trunk, Sam had taken the Beretta and a shotgun, the one he used since they had reunited two years ago. So the gun he had just heard couldn't have been Sam's, because their Beretta was quieter then any Smith & Wesson he ever heard.

A human scream erupted from outside. Dean recognized it immediately as Takheome's and his face lit up with the biggest smile ever. However, when the deep timbre pivoted and turned into the familiar shriek the Winchester had already heard, or more, had felt days ago, Dean's guts turned to ice.

It was back.

Bracing himself against what he knew he was going to hear next, the defenseless hunter gritted his teeth and made a humming noise of his own to drown the increasing sound out. The thunderous drone vibrated in his skull, his teeth. The screaming, whispering, pleading voices cut through his brain like a hot thread. Dean's low hum hitched and changed into a never-ending groan. While the cries sliced through his muddy brain, he gasped in shock.

And an old friend, the nasty bout of coughing, reported itself back with a vengeance.

A painful stabbing awoke in Dean's chest. With every convulsion the coughing brought with it, it jabbed his insides with such a ferocity that the Winchester was sure he would soon witness a dagger tear out from his chest like an Alien. Dean felt something thick and warm rising up in his throat, and were he first had tried to stifle the ragged coughing in favor of his damaged lungs, he now had no other choice then to cough as hard as he dared to avoid choking. He tried in vain to roll his head to the side, his eyes clenched shut, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. With every agonizing cough Dean felt warm, sticky liquid emerging from his mouth, running down the side of his face and pooling in his ear and beneath his head.

Slowly feeling precious air pouring painstakingly into his lungs again, the older Winchester swallowed frantically against his seizing throat to keep himself from hacking once more, tried to give his chest and himself a break. At least it had gone silent outside, the horrible cries of the creature ebbed away.

To say he was totally exhausted was the understatement of the year. To just roll over and die or at least sleep through the whole nightmare was on top of his wish list. He watched the dirty ceiling blurring through hooded green eyes, every labored gasp being pushed forcefully through slightly parted, blue-tinged lips. The downside of the slowly but surely abating paralysis made itself clearer and clearer, the blissful numbness retreating with every passing minute, uncovering how bad the young hunter was.

The throbbing rhythm in his head increased it's volume and intensity, every beat seemingly carving a new notch into his brain. Burning seas of green refused to focus, demanding rest and darkness. Tears of pain and fatigue crept down at Dean's temples and mingled together with the blood that had already claimed it's place beneath the hunters head. Chapped lips finally cracked as a parched tongue tried to moisten them.

Dean felt miserable, feeling the infection taking hold of him again now that the mystical herbs were no longer in use and the insane medicine man wasn't around anymore. The fever was heating him up, at the same time his body began to shiver where the sedation had already withdrawn, causing Dean's teeth to clatter slightly.

He wasn't getting enough air. The little amount of oxygen he drew in just didn't flow all the way down to his lungs. Even if Dean would have been able to take a real deep breath, he knew that it was like respire through a straw. A real narrow one. The pain that flared through the ribcage with every rise of his chest was almost impossible to bear, leaving the Winchester clench his jaw with every inhale and moaning with every exhale. For a second he was glad that his arms were still immobile and unfeeling.

Dean closed his eyes in surrender when two more shots rang out.

There were things a person recognized everywhere and in every situation. Like a mother could hear her baby cry over the cries of ten other babies. Like the taste of the homemade pie your grandma fed you after lunch. Like the face of a person you once adored in your childhood.

Like the sound of a certain shotgun you have heard for years.

Sam had gotten that shotgun during a time when hunting ghosts and monsters with his dad and big brother had still been fascinating. Three years before Stanford John had brought it from a hunt and Sam had adopted it right away. Though he had always been the handgun type, he had always chosen that particular weapon when it came to hunting down spirits or any other supernatural creation killable with special filled shells.

During the last year before Sam had chucked in the family business, he had used the gun fewer and fewer. Might have been because he had joined hunts at infrequent intervals. But Dean had been able to discern a difference between his father's weapon and the one Sam had used in the past, he could still do so today.

And he wouldn't have needed the second shot to know that it had been Sam's shotgun that had been just fired.

"Sammy", he rasped, his eyes still closed. He repeatedly banged his head softly on the ground he lay on, ignoring his headache flashing up in protest, his brain registering the motion with mild disinterest as quite refreshing fact that he was able to move his freakin' head now.

* * *

"Okay, we're not safe in here", Sam stated once again, this time scrambling to his feet.

Hel stared at the widening hole in the roof in disbelief, the bird's beak hammering down on the old shingles, ripping them away with a force the hunter wouldn't have thought possible. "Think we can hide in another cabin?" he hissed at his young companion. Sam slid his eyes from the roof and caught Hel's gaze, his lips forming the word 'Barn'. When the Indian nodded, he and Sam strode over to the window and moved along the wall to the door.

The Thunderbird continued to chop the shingles and roof battens of the old house into pieces, the remnants raining down on the desk, covering the herbs and plants with splinters and debris. Over the loud bursting and cracking the creature croaked, wether from exertion or pleasure, accompanied by the flapping of it's wings on the precipitous of the roof.

Never leaving the occupied animal out of sight, Sam ducked beside their goal and fumbled for the handle, aiming the .45 steadily at the splintered gap above. He winced when the door opened with a click and froze for a second, watching the Thunderbird for any signs that it had heard anything. Not detecting any reaction, Sam pulled the door as far open as needed and after a final glance at Hel slipped through the opening outside. Resuming the position outside, squatted, back against the wall, the younger Winchester listened to the Thunderbird while he waited for Hel to crouch low next to him.

Sam licked his lips and swallowed hard. This was so not getting the way they had planed. This utter helplessness, being forced to absolute impotence, it made him mad. This should have been a go-in,-find-out-where-Dean-is,-kill-the-bastard-and-get-out-job. Not a Sam-screws-up-and-everybody-goes-to-hell-carnage. He should have shot the old man. Shouldn't have had listened to the godforsaken words the wizard had poisoned his mind with. Should have had more trust in himself to find Dean on his own.

_Why are you making demands of something you left behind, Sam?_

Sam flinched when a hand grabbed his upper arm and he berated himself mentally for losing focus once again. Hel looked at him with those concerned and understanding dark eyes, eyes that also urged him to keep his head in the game.

"Okay?" the older hunter asked, his whisper just barely drowning out the thunderous noises coming from the roof.

"Yeah. Think we can do some cabin-hopping without getting spotted by it?"

Hel shook his head slowly and let his gaze wander through the dark village. "Let's wait until it breaks through the roof. When it's inside searching for us, we make a run for it."

"I hate this hide and seek thing", Sam muttered, gripping his brother's gun with both hands, "takes too much time. I hope Dean's okay."

"We're close. We'll find him. But at the moment this hide and seek is our only way."

Suddenly a new noise accompanied the sounds of destruction on the roof. Barely audible at first, coming from the distance, it grew louder and more urgent. It sounded a bit like the howling of a wolf, but more agonized, panicky. After a few moments, it stopped.

Exchanging baffled glances, the hunters huddling at the cabin's outside wall held their breaths when the Thunderbird stopped striking it's blows upon the old wooden structure and seemed to listen. A scratching signaled that it was marching over the roof ridge, letting out confused caws.

The sudden silence wafting through the village was awkward and eery. Even the nocturnal animals had stopped their conversations, either irritated by the Thunderbird's disruptive forces or it's appearance altogether.

For a tiny second Sam thought they had imagined the crying wolf. Until it was heard again, this time, if even possible, more terrified and agitated then before.

The name rolled from the young Winchester's lips the same second Hel leaped up onto his feet, "Patrick."

* * *

Dean awoke with a start and this time he managed to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape him. There was no reason to trigger another hacking attack that might kill him on the spot.

He couldn't remember falling asleep. Or pass out. Damn, seemed like he was really bad off.

With the returning awareness the severity of the current situation crashed back onto the young hunter. _Gunshots. Handgun. Thunderbird. Paralyzing. More gunshots. Shotgun. Sammy. Sam. _

He needed to get out of here. Needed to find Sam. Needed to finish a certain creature off, no matter if it was old and performing rain dances in his leisure time or feathery and way too loud for his sensitive ears. Worried about his own condition but at the same time eager to check how far the paralyzing was already gone from his body, Dean decided to take it slow.

Slowly he rolled his head, first to the left, then to the right, ignoring the jolt of pain that ripped through his skull. Check. He concentrated his attention on his shoulders, shrugging them, pushing them slightly upward and then into the ground. Check. He clenched his fists.

And bit his tongue to keep himself from crying out in pain.

An orchestra of waves rolled over his body, a hot one, a cold one, a particularly big one bringing the hated nausea back with it, pushing Dean over the edge by a close shave. The pain exploded from his left hand, from every single finger, and crept like a lightning through the whole limb, taking a rest at his elbow to increase the agony right there a shade higher.

Dean clenched his jaw and panted through gritted his teeth, knowing he was only a few steps away from losing his sanity. He couldn't suppress the soft whimpers that accompanied every exhale.

"Fan...fantastic", he breathed, "son of a bitch came...too freakin' far with breaking my bones."

When the stars dancing in front of his eyes slowly faded and the pain in his left arm receded to a dull pounding, Dean carefully clenched his fist again, this time the right one alone and was relieved that it seemed to be unharmed. After lifting the complete right arm, bending it, wriggling his fingers, he draped the fully operative limb over his belly. Right arm working, left one busted. Check.

Licking his lips in concentration, Dean lifted his head so he could see his legs. He tried to pull them up, but to his dismay realized that they were still numb. Tingling, on their way to start working again soon, but yet useless.

So his body was only half useless now. He could work with that.

Dean shifted his focus from his demolished self to his surroundings. His hazy gaze wandered over the ceiling, the walls, the interior of the cabin. In contrast to the one he had stayed in prior to the little bone breaking excursion this one was uninhabited. There was no furniture at all, not even cold remains of ashes in the fireplace. Just an empty, abandoned wooden cabin with one door and two small windows.

"And isn't that...just awesome", Dean remarked sarcastically, wincing when the talking caused his throat to seize up once more.

Narrowing his eyes he listened. He hadn't heard another gunshot or a scream, either human or Thunderbird-like. He wasn't sure how to classify that, as good or bad news. Penetrating the silence now was a knocking, a pounding further away, as if someone was chopping wood with a pick axe.

Deciding that this was something to drill down later, Dean concentrated on the problem at hand, how to get out of here. With no weapons. No tools and aids. And a frame shot to hell. Green eyes once again darting over to the door, Dean assessed the distance he would have to crawl. Eyeing the door handle, he was sure enough he could reach it from his position on the ground.

He just hoped it wasn't locked.

Tensing his muscles he tried to roll over his right arm onto his belly. Only that it didn't work without the commitment of his legs. "Son of a....", Dean started another train of expletives, but a twitch in his chest reminded him to rather shut his mouth.

Feeling like a turtle accidently turned over, the older Winchester went on with his cursing mentally and then tried again. This time he rolled slightly onto his left, a sharp hiss escaping his lips when his broken left landed rudely on the ground and another bolt of lightning flashed through his arm. After a few breathes to handle the agony, he stretched his right arm over to his left side in order to use it as a weight for his next move. He then swung his upper body including his right arm back to the right side with as much force as he could muster. The momentum pushed him over on his side and he let himself drop the rest of the way onto his belly.

This time Dean wasn't able to keep himself from screaming out in pain when his broken limb protested the bone-jarring treatment and his ribs and lungs decided to join in.

His forehead resting on the rough wooden floorboards, Dean rode out the waves of agony crashing down on him. His breathing was now even more restricted due to his whole body weight crushing the already wrecked ribs, his arm kept throbbing and pulsating.

He was done. He realized he would never be able to reach that door, not with only one arm and no help from his legs. Now that he was able to move again, he understood that it wasn't a relief, and for a tiny moment he wished the paralyzation back so that the constant pain would just go away.

Pulling his right arm up Dean slowly lifted his face from the floor to place his forearm beneath it. He let his heavy head drop down, his hot forehead now resting on the equally hot skin of his arm.

He wouldn't move anymore, wouldn't try to escape or fight. Whatever that insane fucker had planned with him, he could go right on and finish the job. Whoever came through that door wouldn't meet Dean Winchester. He would only find a shadow of his former self.

* * *

"Hel, no!" Sam shouted after his friend and scrambled to his feet, "ShitShitShit!" He started to ran after the older hunter, turned his body in mid-run and jerked his gun and head up to locate the Thunderbird's exact position.

The huge bird stood on the roof ridge, drawn up to it's full height, it's mighty wings spread out at the sides and enveloping the cabin, which looked really small all of a sudden underneath the big creature. It's gaze darted from Hel's racing form to the direction the cries were erupting from, as if it was pondering over the exclusiveness of the two targets.

Running after Hel, switching his attention between their enemy and the direction they were headed, Sam tried to come up with a plan. What now? If they would reach the building Patrick was in, they were safe as long as the bird would leave the cabin alone.

Yeah, right.

But where the hell should they head next? With Patrick in tow who needed to be carried, rather from two then only one person? They couldn't jump from cabin to cabin and keep the bird occupied in hopes of making it tired. Sam was sure that the first player in this game collapsing from exhaustion definitely would not be the Thunderbird.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by the thunderous flapping of wings. He felt the air from the giant strokes being pressed against his back, his hair flying into his face. Glancing backwards, he cursed again when he witnessed the bird push itself off from the destroyed ridge. It glided majestically from the roof, flapping it's wings only one time to avoid hitting the ground. Flying about 5 inches above the gravel it homed in on it's targets.

"Down! Hel! Down!" Sam yelled, managing to bury two bullets into the approaching bird's plumage before he dropped onto his stomach, throwing an arm over his head, trying to melt with the ground. He felt the huge creature rush over him, could smell the musty odor of it's feathers, the pressure that kept the enormous animal in the air press down on him.

Jerking his head up, Sam watched as Hel glanced back and mirrored his action of dropping onto the ground. He rolled onto his back in one swift motion and emptied the shotgun into the Thunderbird's body. The creature whimpered and swayed in mid-flight, but apart from that it seemed frighteningly unfazed. It flapped it's wings again and changed it's course, soaring higher and performing what seemed to be a looping.

Both hunters got to their feet quickly and resumed their sprint toward the cabin Patrick was in, still terrifyingly shouting for anyone, anybody to come and help him. They were only a few yards away, Hel slightly ahead of Sam, when the Thunderbird approached again.

But this time it made sure it would get his prey.

The horrible screeching knocked Sam on his knees once more, sending him through a sick repetition of the sensation he had felt earlier. From the corner of his eye he spotted Hel, still on his feet, but not moving onwards anymore, fighting to keep his balance.

A giant shadow and the increasing volume of the animal's cries announced the return of their nemesis. A cold shiver ran down Sam's back. He ducked his head against the forced rigidity and prepared himself for the inevitable. Closing his eyes and pressing his lips together he waited for the sharp talons to rip through him full tilt, expected to drown in his own blood soon. _I'm sorry, Dean..._

Again he felt the rush of air from the Thunderbird flying past him, but pain didn't come. Sam squinted against the whirling dirt before him and watched in terror as the enormous creature plunged down hard before him, dragging Hel to the ground with it.

"No! HEL! NO!" Sam yelled. The young Winchester yanked a stiff and heavy arm up and shot repeatedly at the animal, aiming at it's head and throat to avoid hitting his friend. "BACK OFF! BACK THE HELL OFF!" he shouted, pulling the trigger over and over, not bothering to stop when the shots turned into protesting clicks.

Sam knew it was to no avail. Every bullet he had just spent was absolutely pointless. The Thunderbird continued it's attack undeterred, croaking and flapping it's wings in excitement, towering over the fallen Indian and snapping at Hel's head and neck with it's beak. Hel lay on his stomach, desperately trying to protect his head with his arms wrapped around it. He tried to scramble away from the thing, his legs pedaling in the dirt. He was grunting in pain and cursing at the creature angrily, as if challenging it.

The second Sam felt his body cooperate again, he jumped up and ran toward the struggle taking place in front of him, sending a small thank-you to his father for the extra lessons in changing the clip of a gun while running at full speed. After reloading Dean's .45 he stashed it into his waistband to have the hands free for his next move. Oblivious to the approaching threat, the bird continued to chop down on Hel's vital body parts, keeping the human from crawling away by digging a sharp talon into his calf, fixating him to the spot.

With a hateful howl Sam lunged at the broad feathered back of the Thunderbird, using the rump as a diving board to reach the creature's shoulders. He dug the toes of his boots deep into the plumage, feeling the soft flesh underneath. Gripping the firm feathers like handles, Sam pulled himself further up, wincing when the solid quills scratched the tender skin on his face.

His undisturbed ascent was over soon when the giant creature croaked in rage and bucked like a wild horse. Sam gripped the feathers as hard as he could, embraced the animal in order not to provide it with a target. The bird's head jerked around and the beak missed the young hunter's face only about mere millimeters.

The sound of a gunshot cut through the scene, followed by another one. Sam's wild horse cried out in what sounded like pure agony and it hobbled a few steps backwards before it moved it's wings in mighty strokes. In utter disbelief Sam realized that the thing was about to fly up.

"Let yourself fall, Sam!" a familiar, yet strained voice rang out, "Let go of it!"

Without a second thought, Sam tensed his muscles and pushed himself off the creature's back, his stomach casting a somersault when his fall turned out to be higher then he had assumed. Hitting the gravel hard with his back, Sam rolled over to cushion his impact but remained on his fours for a split second to get air into his lungs again. Wheezing, he watched the Thunderbird raise into the air. This time however, it's movements were sluggish, the trajectory uncoordinated and the wing strokes irregular.

Sam darted his eyes over to Hel, who sat in the dirt, the shotgun gripped tight so his knuckles had turned white. Blood was running freely from the back of his head and his hands and arms. He was wavering slightly, watching the creature's fly.

"Hel!" Sam shouted and crawled over to his fellow hunter, "Come on, the cabin."

"No hurry", the older hunter rasped and his haggard face split into a smile, "Can't see us anymore, the son of a bitch." As the young Winchester threw him a questioning look, he went on, "Losing one eye, it's bad. Losing the second, it's rather inconvenient.

Sam's mouth twitched and a ripple of laughter escaped his mouth. He reached out and gripped Hel's upper arm tightly in order to pull him to his feet, when a familiar croak and a heavy thud resound near them.

Frozen to the spot, Sam's eyes darted over to Hel, whose smile had dropped from his face and hooded browns were staring at something behind him. Hel slowly raised his index finger and laid it onto his lips. Sam turned as if in slow motion and watched as the Thunderbird hobbled between the cabins, bumping against the walls thanks to the gigantic size of it's wings. It shook it's head repeatedly, swiveling it up and down, croaking in confusion.

It was a pathetic sight.

Now that it had gotten quiet again, Sam noticed that Patrick's cries had abated. A surge of panic flooded the young hunter. He could only hope that the kid had fallen asleep or more likely, passed out. And wasn't in the mood for a walk in the moonlight. Sam made a mental note to hand over the award for the most awful timing ever to Patrick when they were out of here.

Suddenly the Thunderbird straightened and moved it's head real slow in a horizontal line. As if he tried to hear it's prey. As if it's ears had gained the power it's eyes had lost in minutes. Shooting Hel an uneasy glance, Sam didn't dare to breathe. Just how sensitive was the creature's ear? Could it hear their heartbeat? Their breathing? The rustling of their clothing or hair?

It wouldn't matter how fine the thing's hearing was. The second Sam finished his thought the bird opened it's beak. And the two hunters had to learn in a painful way that they should have had destroyed the Thunderbird's syrinx rather then it's eyes.

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**To be continued...**


	18. Chapter 18

**Good evening y'all!**

**Not much rambling from me here, just hop right in!**

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**Chapter 18**

The sounds that had erupted from the Thunderbird before were nothing compared to the ones it let out now. They were louder, angrier and by far more painful. And this time it's screeches was meant to kill.

A splitting scream emitted from Sam's throat as the young hunter threw his head back, clawing at his ears. His body felt as if it was about to crack, every single nerve searching desperately for a way to escape his body and the terrible noise. An invisible clamp pressed against his temples, slowly crushing his skull. A sudden wave of nausea overcame Sam's failing body and would he have had something in his stomach it's contents would be scattered on the dusty ground.

He doubled over, his forehead slamming on the floor. His vision turned white and through the haze of agony he felt something warm run down from his ears. He heard Hel cry out beside him and wanted so badly to crawl over and hold his friend, but wasn't able to move.

The young Winchester was only a few steps away from the dark abyss when a voice erupted to their left. It was human, it sounded somehow muffled and it was chanting something.

And it was familiar gruff.

The screeching and squealing that was about to kill them pitched higher, but it lost it's power the moment the chant wafted through the village. Like a switch being flipped, the blinding agony vanished and left only a headache in it's wake. Sam remained in his position on the ground, not bothering that he was inhaling dirt while he got his heavy breathing under control again. Damn, it was time that someone would kill that fucker off.

Lifting his head slowly, he saw the Thunderbird struggle against invisible bonds, writhing and squirming as if someone had draped a net over it. It's cries were still audible, but they had turned into a hoarse whisper, the only hurting quality being the danger of causing a soreness to the creature's throat.

The chant was steady and monotonous, and now that the ringing in his ears slowly subsided Sam noticed that it was declaimed through a megaphone. When he turned into the direction the voice came from, his grunts and hisses died on his lips and his face lit up in nameless joy.

There he stood, good old Bobby, in front of a SUV which gleamed in the moonlight and therefore was too new and shiny to belong to the older hunter. The truck's headlights shone past him, the strong beams illuminating the Thunderbird's fight like a spotlight. He held something white, a sheet of paper maybe, in one hand, a megaphone placed to his mouth in the other. He was droning foreign words of a language that Sam hadn't ever heard before in his entire life, his deep timbre filling the crisp night air unwaveringly.

The young Winchester couldn't see Bobby properly, but the silhouette and the voice was everything he needed. A pang of relief flooded Sam, the sudden need for protection outshining all the years he had grown up to a dangerous hunter. For a second he felt like a baby that stretched it's arms out to be taken up into mommy's arms.

A painful grunt pulled Sam's attention from the soothing sight that was Bobby and he scrambled gingerly over to Hel, who struggled to sit up pushing short gasps from his lips. Intending to grab his fellow hunter's hands but thinking the better of it after glancing down at Hel's torn and bloody hands and wrists, Sam pulled him up by his upper arms.

"Hey, you alright? You have to watch this, it'll make your day", he spoke in a soft voice and tried to catch the other man's eyes. Hel blinked at him as if considering if it had been Sam who had just talked to him before he slid glassy dark orbs past the Winchester to check out the scene unfolding.

The trashing Thunderbird was still whispering croaks and was literally shrinking. Hel and Sam watched with satisfaction as the enormous creature went through the same transformation it had gone before, only this time from the fearsome animal back to the old Indian. Darting his eyes back to Bobby Sam noticed another figure standing beside the SUV – someone with a rifle aimed into the direction of the failing creature.

Bobby spoke on, his voice rising slightly before he shouted the last words at the pathetic heap that had just been a mighty, deadly supernatural threat. The spell being finished, Bobby lowered the megaphone and quickly handed it over to the figure beside him before he came running towards Hel and Sam.

But Sam wasn't finished yet. Slowly rising to his feet, mindful of the dizziness still lingering in his bones, he stalked toward the Indian huddled in the dirt. Swaying, unsteady steps turned into rage-filled strides with every yard Sam came closer.

Tahkeome looked around frantically, unseeing eyes darting around in the dark. Satisfaction washed over the young Winchester when the man shrank away from the sound of his approaching footfalls and jerked slightly when the wall of a cabin stopped his retreat. Sam heard Bobby call his name in a warning tone that he chose to ignore.

His mission wasn't over yet. And this time he wouldn't do things by halves.

Reaching the Indian's slumped form Sam grasped his collar and yanked the man up roughly, his fury increasing tenfold when his enemy's expression suddenly displayed a coolness that caused Sam's hair to stand up at the back of his neck. He slammed the wizard hard against the wooden structure and closed the gap between them so that their noses were nearly touching and the young Winchester stared into two white eyes, the one the creature had just lost watering slightly.

For a moment neither man said a word. The crunching of dirt and gravel signaled someone's approach and out of nowhere the barrel of a gun appeared, pointing at the Indian's temple.

Sliding his eyes to his left, Sam acknowledged Bobby's company with a jumping clenched jaw before he yanked his enemy close to him only to slam him right back against the unyielding surface that was the wall. Tahkeome's head crashed against the wood and he let out a grunt before the stony expression slid back into place.

"I'm gonna kill you", Sam spat, his voice dripping with venom, "I'm gonna rip you apart. And I won't need any magic for that."

Not a single muscle twitched on the Indian's face when he opened his mouth, "So I was right. I need to give up on Dean because of you."

The remark was answered with another slam against the wall behind and, if it was possible at all, an even darker expression on the young Winchester's face.

"Where is he?" Sam asked in the lowest growl, barely audible for the men around him and his knuckles turned white while he tightened his grip on the old man's collar.

"He is going to die because his little brother is too selfish to..."

The fist flew up so fast that even Bobby flinched and readjusted his hold on the gun. It crashed onto Tahkeome's nose like a sledgehammer, breaking it in it's wake and causing the Indian's legs to disappear from under him. Yanking him up again, Sam used a bit more power as necessary to pin him back to the wall.

"Where. Is. He."

For a short moment, nothing happened. Like a freeze frame. Sam pinning the disheveld man with staring eyes that saw nothing against the hard surface of the wall. Bobby standing beside him, his stance poised to strike at any second, the barrel of the gun resting on Tahkeome's skin. Hel stood a few steps back, shotgun aimed at their enemy.

Closing his eyes, Tahkeome replied, "Dean is in one of the houses."

"Which one?"

"You want him? Then see if your brotherly instincts are strong enough to lead you to him."

Before Sam was able to return something, the old man dropped his head back and his eyes turned completely ruby, a whirlwind of blood red erupting in his dulled irises. A flash of lightning cut through the night and caused the hunters to flinch and duck.

Another forked lightning flared up, smaller, thinner then the first one, but instead of dissipating it seemed to creep from the sky with a target in mind and, as if attracted by it, stroke into a cabin at the left. The wooded structure caught fire immediately and soon the roof was wrapped up in flames.

To Sam's horror, more thunderbolts erupted from the dark above them, each one finding it's way to a house, every struck house blazing up. Within minutes, the whole village was burning, the night lit up in orange and yellow, the smell of burning wood engulfing the forest.

Sam yanked Tahkeome closer again, the wizard's eyes returned to normal by now.

"WHICH CABIN?" Sam bellowed over the roaring of the raging fires, his fury displaced by pure desperation and the fear for Dean's life.

The old man's face split into a smile. "Prove that you're worth it, Sam. Listen to your heart and you will find him. Hurry. You're losing too much time."

With an outcry of rage the young hunter slammed the Indian's head against the wall once more, satisfied when Tahkeome's body went limp with the impact and he slumped to the ground. Sam didn't wait until the unconscious man hit the gravel. He broke into a run instantly and screamed his brother's name over and over.

Hel and Bobby jerked around, too, spurred to action. Bobby rushed to the burning buildings closest to them, shouting something at the lone figure still standing at the SUV while Hel hurried to the house Patrick was in.

A biting heat emitted from the blazing wood, the village being wrapped in flames and thick smoke. Sweat was running down in rivulets from Sam's face and spine, the smoke caused his throat to size up and he swallowed frantically to keep himself from coughing. He reached cabin after cabin and kicked the doors in, some opened easily, others needed some more force. But with every house he found empty, with every dying building he saw the destructive power of fire advance, he felt his hopes shatter.

After he had fought himself through about twelve houses, his legs refused to carry him longer. Slumping to his knees in the middle of the inferno, Sam ran both hands through his hair, glistening eyes darting from one burning cabin to the next. Tears streamed down his face, mingled together with the sweat from the pitiless heat, leaving stripes of soot behind. He kept screaming, his hoarse voice being swallowed by the blusterous rage around him.

He screamed until Dean's name got replaced by an agonized howl of sorrow and grief.

* * *

A deafening crash ripped Dean from a blissful semi-conscious state he had been pleased to welcome some time ago. He would have preferred to pass out completely, but when was the famous Winchester luck ever giving him a break. At some point the nasty creature's battle cry had flashed through his muddled brain, erupted from further away but causing his whole body to hurt nonetheless. After it had stopped Dean had gladly returned into his daze, drowning all the pain and agony by humming song after song in his mind.

Now, being instantly too aware for his liking, he lifted his heavy head in slow motion and tried to comprehend the noises and smells that assaulted his dulled senses all of a sudden. With the clattering he had just heard a few pieces of wood had landed beside him. Turning his head Dean observed the timber. It looked as if it had been ripped from the roof, was splintered and charred. Dying embers sprinkled the old wood.

It was then when Dean managed to finish the puzzle in his head. The roaring that crept into the cabin from outside, the crackling he heard from above, the smell of burnt wood wafting around him and last but not least the sudden heat that pressed onto him.

Carefully but as quickly as he was able to, the young hunter pulled his arm back from it's position as a pillow and cursed when the tingling and ant-running served as a reminder that fallen-asleep limbs were a bitch. He stemmed himself of the ground with his good arm and tilted slightly to the side so he could see the ceiling, biting back a groan when the broken bones in his left ground together.

The pain and stiffness was forgotten instantly when he saw the bright flames lick at the cabin's roof.

"Holy crap", Dean breathed and pulled his arm close, rolling back on his stomach again. He dropped his head to the floor, surprised at how much effort it took him to just keep the thing up on his own steam. When he lifted it again, his eyes roamed the room, finding the door at the far end of his jail. The goal he had abandoned to reach before now being his only way to survive. He needed to get out of here unlike he was keen on getting roasted alive.

His legs. Maybe...

Fixing his tired gaze on the wooden rectangle that was the door, Dean sent a small prayer to whoever was listening and tilted his hips, pulling his right leg upwards. When it obeyed without protest, his mouth twisted into a genuine smile. Stemming his good arm onto the ground, he pushed himself up, pulling the right leg first, then the left one under him. After he managed to bring himself into a kneeling position, Dean was beyond exhausted, but ready to kiss the floorboards.

Maybe he could make it after all.

He curled himself up into a fetal position, his broken arm tucked closely to his chest, his head once again resting on the ground and tried to gather the last ounces of strength he knew lay hidden somewhere inside him. This was his last attempt to get out. If this escape failed there wouldn't be anything left for a next time. There was only so much he could take.

Another crack from above pulled the hunter's attention back to the ceiling which was now completely enveloped in flames, pointing out to the fact that he might hurry up a bit and get his sorry ass into gear.

Darting his eyes to the door again, Dean pushed himself upright sluggishly. The room tilted dangerously and the feeling of nausea returned in it's full glory. The older Winchester swayed and caught himself with his good arm to avoid hitting the floor face first.

The heat from the roof threatened to push him down again, sweat breaking out despite the chills that crept over his body. With the new position a few feet above the ground the thick smoke from the fire made itself felt. With every struggled intake of breath, the biting fumes burned their way into Dean's damaged lungs like acid, triggering cough after cough.

He tried to stifle the hacking to a minimum, every strain to his insides leaving him reeling from pain and disorientation. Deciding to stay off his feet and crawl to safety due to the heat and fumes, Dean started to move, swearing at the slow pace he was forced to keep. He considered to get up and walk, but dismissed the idea instantly. He was glad that he had made it on his knees, to try and get up would be just insolent.

The black smoke was filling out the whole cabin and the door disappeared behind a dark veil of fumes and a blur of tears. Blinking rapidly, Dean glanced down and scratched at the slits of the contiguous floorboards, using them as markers so he wouldn't go stray and crawl in circles. He flinched when a loud clattering behind him penetrated the roaring and crackling of the fire, indicating that the windows had just given up due to the increasing heat.

Angry flames took over the walls, devouring the old rotten wood. Correcting his way several times by stroking the gaps in the floor, Dean hobbled on, swallowing hard, his teeth clenched. He couldn't breathe. The tingling in his chest grew and the single coughs that managed to slip out turned into the bouts Dean had so desperately tried to avoid. He fought for every bit of air in between the hacking, making his way toward the direction he expected the door to be. The black clouds made it hard to even see his own hand groping along the ground, let alone see the walls or the door itself. As if it wasn't hard enough to crawl using only one hand.

The saving exit seemed to be miles away, stretching the young hunter to the limit. Dean crept on clumsily, his narrowed eyes burning and watering, his vision blurry and virtually gone thanks to the walls of smoke surrounding him. Hacking fits shocked his abused body, every cough doing it's bit to keep the small river of blood running down Dean's chin to flow.

The older Winchester let out a relieved whimper when his right hand suddenly connected with the wall. He slid it along the planks, dragging himself with it, desperately searching the door. Black spots began their weird dance in front of Dean's vision and his throat sized up once more, cutting off his air supply completely.

_Please. Give me a chance here. I'm so close..._

It was too hot, his taut skin feeling as if it would blow out any second. He could hear the brisk fire crackle around him, encircling him. He was suffocating. He was burning.

Tentative gropes at the panels turned desperate, frantic. Dean tried to scream, but only managed a hoarse wheezing. Gasping for precious air, panic and fear dulling his senses, bringing him to use both his hands, the good and the broken one, to pound against the wall in sheer terror. He didn't react to the lightning pain in his shattered arm, hand, fingers, the fear for his life and the lack of oxygen damping all his senses.

_Please. Please. God, please. So close..._

The pounding faded. The last rebellion of his destroyed body waned, no strength was left. Laying the palms of his hands flat against the wood, his head dropping forwards so that his forehead came to rest on the warm wall, Dean felt himself give up. While his mind still tried to fight, to find a way out of this hell, spur him on to keep on moving, his body stopped reacting the way it should. The black spots had taken over Dean's line of sight completely, a black roaring heat being one of the last things he sensed. He felt his hands slide down the panels, felt his body tilt to the side and for a short moment marveled at how good everything felt all of a sudden.

_Close..._

He never noticed as he hit the ground.

* * *

_'Always, Sammy...'_

His eyes shot open, the blaze around him reflecting in the tear-filled eyes. Sam jerked his head around, his brother's voice in his ear as if he stood right beside him. Dean's last words to him the morning they had parted.

To Sam's left, a crashing sound accompanied the collapse of a burning cabin. To his right, he watched Bobby leap from another one, his hands empty, his expression devoid of any hope. The young Winchester let his blurry gaze wander over the flaming buildings.

No.

He wouldn't let this happen. He wouldn't sit here in the dirt while his brother was burning alive in one of those fucking houses. And the hell would he prove that wizard right. He could feel that it wasn't too late yet, just knew that there still was a chance. His brotherly instincts were strong enough to feel that. And they would be strong enough to guide him.

He was worth it.

Sam scrambled to his feet, straightened and ran a angry hand over his face. He glared at the hungry flames, swallowing every wooden structure, before he closed his eyes and concentrated. He drew a mental picture of Dean, imagined him, heard him.

_'If you want me to visit you from time to time, please do some repaper.'_

_'I accept that this life isn't yours, never had been.'_

_'Seems like I won't get around it now, huh?'_

_'I can't just quit something I did my whole damn life.'_

_'Why do you want to leave so badly?'_

_'To us, Sammy. We've been a great team.'_

A hand on his shoulder ripped Sam from his daze and he opened his eyes to Bobby standing before him, pulling at his sleeve, the older hunter's face being wet and blackened with soot, the blue eyes wide in horror and grief.

"Sam, we...come on, son...it's not safe...we...", the man stammered, trying to be authoritative, but not able to.

Sam blinked at him owlishly before his eyes drifted back to the inferno.

**

* * *

To be continued...**


	19. Chapter 19

**Happy Mother's day to all you lovely mums out there! And in case you don't have one of those little rugrats tugging at your sleeve all the time, happy Mother's day nonetheless, because writing amazing and beautiful stories is like giving birth to a baby, too, right?**

**So, I guess if I don't bring Sam and Dean together any time soon I'm in real danger of getting stoned to death. Let's see if I'm in the mood for a reunion this time :-)**

**Enjoy, kiddos!**

* * *

**Chapter 19**

Suddenly he was moving.

Quick steps turned into strides, then into a run. Sam passed collapsing frameworks, burning skeletons that used to be homes for people a long time ago, paying no heed to any of it. His brother's voice still ringing in his ear he ignored the heat, the biting smoke, the roaring of the fires around him. Even Bobby, who still stood rooted to the spot Sam had just vacated, shouting after the young man, was lost to the hunter right now.

Sam rushed past a few more buildings and approached one specific cabin at the far end of the village that seemed to cry out to him, summoning him, beckoning him. It's structure was still intact but wrapped in flames completely, the burning wood cracking and creaking, it's collapse only a matter of time.

Reaching the house, Sam yelled his brother's name again and increased his speed once more. He braced himself, twisted his upper body sideways and threw his whole weight against the door, the thought of Dean being directly behind it crossing his mind, but being too fast and forceful to stop now.

Shooting inward at full force the door shattered into pieces and splinters. Stunned by the easy access Sam stumbled and lost his balance, his own momentum making him fall into the burning cabin, hitting the wooden floor with his shoulder first.

The sudden draught coming from the new opening brought the raging fire inside to flare up, intensifying the unbearable heat. Sam rolled onto his stomach, the smoke enveloping him instantly and cutting off his breathing. He pressed the crook of his arm onto his nose and mouth, his watering eyes searching frantically in the nightmare of gray and black for Dean. Large hands padded the ground, Sam's panic spiking when they only met rough wood. His intentions of calling out again failed miserably, the smoke threatening to choke him.

His left hand suddenly landed on something soft, and Sam was sure his heart would stop.

_Dean._

Sliding both hands along the object, realizing it was indeed someone lying there, Sam didn't hesitate. He grasped the body, turned it around so he could get a good grip underneath the person's armpits and stood, nearly burning his head in the process as the flames crept further down.

Dragging himself and his cargo toward the direction the cool night air pushed in, Sam scrambled through the blazing hell, the grip on the limp bundle he was carrying tightening with every step he took. His burning eyes glued to the person he was dragging, he wasn't sure wether he should start to cry or laugh like a lunatic.

The familiar sandy hair, tousled and grimy. But familiar nonetheless. He had found him.

"Dean...", Sam gasped, remnants of the smoke still lingering in his throat and lungs, that and the screams he had let out earlier making his voice raspy, "...it's me. Can...you hear me? Dean?"

Sam had to fight the urge to just stop and check Dean out, looking into his face, see if he was alright, if he was even alive. Embrace him. Hold him. Never let him go again.

After he had pulled his precious cargo into a safe distance from the burning buildings, he went slowly down to his knees, easing his brother's head and shoulders into his lap, careful not to jostle him.

His blood ran cold at the sight of his larger-than-life-brother being so still and unmoving.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, taping the unconscious man's cheek softly with trembling hands, alarmed by the heat emanating from Dean's skin,"Dean? Hey. Hey, come on. You're scaring me here, man..."

The panic returned like an express train when Sam let his eyes wander over his still brother. Dean's paleness stood out against the black smudges on his face, glowing eerily in the withdrawing night. His lips were slightly parted, his big eyes closed, long lashes glued to the skin from sweat and tears. His normally spiky hair laid flat against his forehead. Traces of blood decorated the corners of his mouth and his skin, some dried, some still glistening in the fading moonlight. Running a hand along Dean's body, Sam noticed the fingers of his left hand stick out in an odd angle. Wincing and close to tears, Sam draped his arm over Dean's chest, laid his own hand gently over Dean's broken one and dropped his head so that his forehead came to rest on his big brother's. A gesture important to check an injured person's breathing. A contact he needed right now. A touch he was yearning for since he had began this search.

Sam felt a tiny breeze brushing his cheek, accompanied by a wheezing whimper, barely audible but there. He let out something between a laugh and a sob, not daring to remove his head afraid of losing the contact.

"Hey. Shhh. It's okay. I'm here now. I've gotcha. I've gotcha", the younger man choked out, not able to keep the tears from falling anymore.

Sam knew that there was no time for this now. Knew that Dean needed help ASAP, that he had to get a grip and use his phone, call an ambulance, a helicopter, anything. But he just wasn't ready to let Dean out of his grasp yet. Like a lion mother protecting her cub. Whoever would dare to show up the next minutes with the attempt to even look funny at his brother would meet Sam's right hook. The big one.

"Wake up, man", Sam whispered, briefly wondering when he had started to rock back and forth softly, "Dean? Wake up, please. I need you to talk to me, you hear me? Please..."

"Sam?" Not the voice the youngest Winchester had wanted to hear, but a timbre he decided to accept right now penetrated the moment. Reluctantly Sam lifted his head and he met Bobby's worried, almost devastated expression. The older hunter stood a few feet away, his baseball cap not at it's usual place but serving as a shortcrust pastry in big calloused hands. His cheeks glistened and Sam couldn't remember a time he had seen Bobby like this ever.

Shaking his head, but smiling softly, Sam choked out, "You can put your cap back on, Bobby. He's okay. He will be." He turned toward the still form in his lap, lowering his head once more and whispered, "Promise me. You will be."

Bobby pulled his lower lip between his teeth and averted his eyes for a moment, watching the scenery with a heavy bopping Adam's apple. He slammed the worn cap back on his head and gave a smile of his own before he drew his attention back to the brothers on the ground.

"I don't know how you did it, son", Bobby marveled, fighting to keep his voice even, "but consider me speechless here."

A change in Dean's wheezing yanked Sam's concentration back to the man in his lap and he adjusted his grip on his injured brother.

"Dean?" Sam shifted and propped him higher up, trying to make the breathing easier for him. He remembered Patrick's descriptions and Dean's broken ribs and punctured lungs. Being trapped in a burning house filled up with thick black smoke surely hadn't been very conducive as well. Damnit, he had totally forgotten about that.

"Sam", Bobby started again, his tone having lost the lightness, "He needs medical care now. I had Ranger Bryson over there call 911, I'm sure help will be here soon. You stay put." Bobby came closer and bent down, patting Dean's knee reassuringly, "And you, too, ya hear? Don't you go anywhere." His eyes lingered a few more seconds on the unconscious hunter before he stood upright again and turned, heading back where Sam made out the man he had seen earlier, Ranger Bryson, standing beside a heap on the ground, aiming his rifle at it. A shiver ran down his spine when he failed to find Hel or Patrick. He could only hope that they were both safe and alright.

Dean's breathing got shallower and began to hitch slightly. Sam shifted once more, resisted to pull his suffering brother closer to his chest in favor to his injuries. He laid a cool hand on Dean's fever-heated cheek, slid it up to his forehead, his worry increasing at the high temperature. Sam had hoped that it had been caused by the fire but when it failed to go down now that Dean was outside in the chilly night, he knew that something else was behind it.

Resting his chin on top of Dean's head, Sam watched the morning sun creep up behind the trees, forcing the night back to make way for a new day.

"You know", he spoke softly, Dean's hair tickling his chin with every word, "I did a lot of thinking, with no annoying big brother around always interrupting me." He huffed out a humourless laugh. "I don't think I look that sexy behind a desk. I mean, reading tons of books, okay. Going to school and all that, could be a nice time, yeah. But the last days happened to be quite boring, you being somewhere else and all."

New noises mixed with the constant roaring of the fire and the sounds of collapsing houses. Sam heard voices, shouting, talking across each other in anxiety. Engines of approaching cars, wailing sirens of ambulances and firetrucks, the flashing of blue lights. Over the cacophony of yells, rumbles and crackings Sam noticed the telltale descent of a helicopter.

"I should tell them that you're afraid of flying", Sam stated and adjusted the grip on his brother once more, glancing down at the lax features. It was when he realized that Dean had paled even more. That the soft wheezing had broken off.

That there wasn't any intake of breath any more at all.

Sam froze. "Dean?"

He tilted Dean's head back and tapped his cheek again, "Dean? Come on." When Sam got no reaction, light taps changed into slaps. "Dean!" Soft words turned into commands, desperate orders, panicked demands. "No. No." Frantic, uncoordinated hands fumbled for the older Winchester's throat, searching for a pulse but finding none.

Sam laid his brother flat on the ground, a voice inside his head telling him to stay calm, to do what he knew he had to do. But what was easy in theory turned out to be agony in practice. Every level-headedness, every nonchalance deflagrates when it's your own brother lying in front of you, not breathing anymore, no heart beat left.

"HELP! HELP ME!" Sam bellowed as loud as he was able to toward the crowd at the other side of the village, not sure if they heard him or maybe someone was already on their way to them. He didn't bother to cast a glance up at his surroundings, the fear of losing Dean forever too big, the panic engulfing him like tentacles as he shook his brother's lifeless form once more.

"Dean", he begged, his eyes filling up with tears again, "Please. Don't you do that now, stay with me, man, keep fighting, come on..."

Sam's mind was reeling, devoid of logic, leaving the younger man helpless and desperate. His hands were shaking badly, his arms suddenly like lead. Muttering a steady string of reassurances and soothing words, he gripped Dean's head and tilted it far back, pinching the nose shut gently. Once again the thought of giving rescue breathing to his own, lifeless brother send Sam's emotion spiraling out of control. Dean shouldn't be so still. So quiet. It just wasn't his nature. Dean Winchester was a perpetuum mobile, never stopping, never resting. Even in his sleep, he was always aware. This just wasn't right.

Forcing himself to get a grip, Sam began to breathe for his brother. Long, slow breaths, one, then another one tried to save Dean's life. A jolt of relief flashed through Sam when he watched Dean's chest rise, but turned into naked fear immediately when the hopeful motion stopped as soon as the life-saving measures stayed away.

Shaking hands fumbled for a pulse again.

"Damnit!" Sam yelled out, his voice cracking at the last syllable. He gave two more breaths before he scrambled down to Dean's chest, dreading what he was about to do due to the injuries on his brother's ribs. "I won't let you go, you hear me", Sam choked out, "Not like this, Dean. Fight, you jerk, come one. FIGHT THIS!"

Finding Dean's sternum Sam placed the heels of his hands over it, interlaced his fingers and pushed down, trying to find a smooth, steady rhythm. His face scrunched up in compassion when he felt Dean's ribs give further way under the forceful compressions. The tears were streaming down his face freely now, the gasps of exertion turning into sobs that threatened to cord up his throat.

Sam didn't know how long he knelt there over his brother, how long he kept fighting the fight Dean had chosen to give up. While his body started to protest of exhaustion and fatigue, his mind kept pushing, shouting at him, reminding him what was at stake.

Voices penetrated his stupor, talking insistently to him. Hands gripped his shoulders reassuringly, padded his back in a soothing manner, grasped at his upper arm in a feeble attempt to pull him away. He didn't need soothing, didn't want to hear words of comfort. Dean was still there, still at his feet. He lashed out, resuming the CPR on the lifeless figure on the ground again instantly.

Through the haze filled with agitated words and orders, Bobby rang out like a beacon, guiding a lost ship into the safety of the harbor.

"Son, let them help."

Sam slowed the administrations on Dean, the compressions weakening, the rhythm turning unsteady.

"They only want to help him, Sam. Let go."

The young Winchester stopped. Keeping his hands flat on Dean's chest, his mind registering in a blur that there still was no rising and falling, Sam's shoulders sagged while his red-rimmed eyes slid up to Dean's face, taking in the pallor, the too prominent freckles, the long dark lashes, the closed lids, the slightly parted, chapped lips. From the corner of his eyes he noticed the owners of the voices swirling around him. He looked up and watched three paramedics bustle around them, shouting orders and starting to work on Dean.

"Bobby...", Sam rasped, his voice raw and charged with emotion, "...I can't..."

"S'okay Sam, let those people do their job, they know exactly what to do", Bobby replied in a calm tone. There were hands on his shoulders trying to pull him up. Bobby's, Sam realized. Deciding to let the older man take the helm now Sam allowed himself to be dragged up. He stumbled a few steps backwards, never leaving Dean out of his sight. He didn't want to let go, didn't want to leave Dean alone, vulnerable, at the mercy of strangers. He wanted to scream at the people to take their hands off his brother, to stop poking at him. Yet he knew that only those people were able to help now, that Dean was in good hands.

So instead of screaming and yelling at them, Sam choked out, barely audible, "Careful. His ribs. Careful. Please."

A few steps away from the commotion, far enough to be out of the way but still close to be right back with Dean if needed Sam stopped and slid down on his butt, his descent slowed down by Bobby who still had a good grip on him. He felt the older hunter kneel down next to him, noticing the uncertainty of the man wether he should stay and convey comfort or walk away, leave Sam be. Deal with his own emotions.

Hell, Sam himself wasn't sure what he wanted right now.

They watched the paramedics work frantically on Dean, two men and a woman bustling with medical equipment, the woman, maybe in her mid-forties, barking orders at the two male paramedics. Words that melted together in Sam's head, serving as soundtrack for the scene he witnessed as his life shattered into millions of tiny pieces right in front of him.

_Ican'tgetapulsedamnitGetthatbloodpressureupCharlieWe'relosinghimComeonComeonReadjustthe AmbubagCan'tbetoolateWhat'sthescalesayingUploadthedefibrillatornowMikegettheMedivacreadywe'recominginChargingOneTwoThreeClear_

The flashing of a blue light and the short wail of a siren tore through the fog in Sam's brain and he dared to turn his tired gaze over to the other commotion. There, in between the furiously working firemen, water fountains of fire hoses, dying fires and wads of smoke rising from black, carbonized wooden frameworks stood Hel.

He just stood there, slightly listing to the left, his arms hanging loosely down at his sides. The stance of a man suffering from total exhaustion. A man that had accompanied another man on his way through hell and now didn't know if it maybe had been in vain. Hel looked straight at Sam, the tumult surrounding him seemingly blanked out, his haggard face showing all kinds of emotions.

He was asking Sam if he was okay. He was reassuring him that everything would be fine again. He was apologizing to him for not being fast enough. He was promising that he would stick with him for as long as he would need it.

Sam caught his friend's eyes, reading all this in them. He wasn't sure how it was even possible that the tears rolling down his face seemed to thicken at Hel's sight. But the painful ghost of a smile that flitted over Sam's agonized features was real and honest, an answer to Hel's unspoken questions.

_You did good. No matter how this all ends, I'm glad you've been through this with me._

Sam watched as a paramedic approached Hel from behind, inspecting the wounds on his head and neck, reaching for his bloody hands and arms. She was saying something, her face calm and professional. Hel didn't react first, gave a curt nod and a smile that didn't reach his sad eyes toward Sam before he turned and let himself guide to an ambulance vehicle.

"There you are again", the female doctor working on Dean suddenly exclaimed, causing Sam to yank his head around again so hard he was near earning himself a whiplash. He straightened, his eyes darting between Dean's pale face and the paramedics, who were still scurrying around their patient.

"Charlie, the helicopter?"

"Is about two minutes out."

"Good. Make him ready, we can't loose time." With that, the woman stood and rushed away, leaving her colleagues to tend to Dean.

Sam scrambled forward, closing the gap between the lifeless form of his brother and him on all fours and knelt down beside his head, resting a still trembling hand on top of Dean's hair. The younger of the two male paramedics had a bag valve mask sealed over Dean's face so that only his closed shrunken eyes were visible. With constant squeezes of the air chamber the young man pushed the precious oxygen into his brother's lungs, making sure Dean stayed with them now that they had just brought him back.

"Dean?" Sam asked hesitantly, softly stroking over Dean's hair, "Dean, can you hear me? It's me. It's Sam."

"You two are quite close, aren't you", the paramedic asked, his eyes on Sam while he continued the life-saving measures on Dean. Sam sat up, regarding the young man briefly and returning his gaze to his brother's face.

"My brother", he answered softly, his hand still resting on Dean's hair.

In the distance the telltale sounds of a helicopter approaching cut through the dawning day. Another bolt of panic jolted through Sam's chest at the thought that they would take Dean away from him once again. He grasped Dean's arm and slid his eyes down to the back of his brother's right hand, where a winged needle infusion set was attached.

He looked up at the paramedic again. "How is he? I mean...will he..." He stopped, a lump in his throat choking the words off. Clenching his jaw, his lips a thin line, Sam swallowed heavily and tried to maintain his composure. He looked up into the professional mask of the man kneeling across from him, his heart skipping one or two beats when he recognized the short flicker of pity crossing the paramedic's expression.

"I honestly can't tell", the man answered in a low tone, glancing down at his patient, "It doesn't look good, but...well...you never know."

Sam gave a bitter nod and lowered his gaze again, watching his brother's chest rising and falling, the steady motion mesmerizing, grounding him. He sat there, the only movement being the thumb of the hand placed on Dean's hair rubbing soothing circles and his lips while he spoke softly reassurances to his brother.

He flinched violently when new faces appeared around them, entering and therefore destroying the cocoon Sam had built around them mentally to shut off the world for only a few moments. Then things started to happen fast. The helicopter stood a few yards away, the rotor blades rotating at half speed, and Sam blinked in surprise at the fact that he hadn't even heard the thing land right beside him. Two EMT's in red jackets took care of Dean, talking to the paramedics on site, absorbing information on the patient's condition.

Out of nowhere, Bobby was there again. Sam knew that the man hadn't left, had been right there the whole time, but had felt Sam's need to be alone with his seriously injured sibling.

Realization and logic made there presence felt again in Sam's mind and he reluctantly let go of his brother's head and arm, once more making way for the EMT's to work. He watched in anxiety as they loaded Dean on a stretcher, a wave of nausea rolling over the younger brother at the sight of Dean's totally limp form. The helpers secured the medical equipment and started toward the waiting helicopter. Sam leaped to his feet and walked with them, keeping pace with the EMT's and taking hold of his brother's hand.

No sooner Dean was safe inside the heli the pilot fired the engine up. The huge rotor blades increased their speed so that the single blades seemed to melt together in motion.

Tearing his eyes away from his sibling Sam grasped the red sleeve of the EMT closest to him.

"Listen, I need to come with you", he shouted at the man over the roaring of the helicopter.

"Sorry, Sir, we need every inch of space we can get", the Asian man replied equally loud, shaking his head resolutely.

"You don't understand, he's afraid of flying, if he wakes up he might need someone to calm him down!"

Again, a flicker of pity on the other man's face, and Sam swore to himself that he would start to throw punches if he would see that certain flicker ever again.

"I'm sorry to disappoint but that kid won't wake up any time soon", the EMT stated drily and swung himself into the heli without further discussions, nodding at his colleague who gave the signal to the pilot.

Sam stood, frozen to the spot, stunned at the blunt answer he just had gotten and watched the yellow helicopter lift off the ground, the brother he had just found being ripped from his grasp again.

**

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To be continued...**


	20. Chapter 20

**Hello all!**

**Still trying to sort my emotions after watching the season finale. I don't know how you feel but I cried my eyes out. I've been a sobbing wreck half an hour after turning the TV off.**

**Anyway, back to happier times. I know it's Saturday and I'm 24 hours early but due to another family renuion tomorrow I won't be able to post, so you'll get your chappy today.**

**We're on the home stretch with this one, and once again I have to leave a massive thank you for all off you who're reading and reviewing, it's amazing that I've been able to stir all your feelings with such a simple story. That all of you are so thrilled by this baby. I just can't believe it!**

**Okay, on with the story. There's a certain old nutjob still left to deal with, right?**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the show's characters. And no money is made from this writing stuff, either.**

* * *

**Chapter 20**

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Time seemed to stand still while Sam watched the helicopter shrink until it disappeared behind the mountains.

The feeling of utter loneliness crept up from his insides, threatening to suffocate him. He needed to get moving, hitch a ride on one of the ambulances or carjack ranger Bryson's SUV if needed.

But first there was something else he needed to do.

Sam straightened and pushed his chin forward. He cleared his face and posture from all the emotions and feelings that had wreaked havoc inside of him during the last days and hours and turned on his heel. He was met with a worried-looking Bobby, who watched him intently.

"What are you up to, Sam?" the older hunter asked warily, narrowing his eyes at the young Winchester.

"You know what I'm going to do, Bobby", Sam answered him with so much venom in his tone that he was sure he saw the other man flinch.

Bobby shook his head, "That won't help anyone. You know that, right?"

"I DON'T CARE!" Sam bellowed, the outcry of rage causing the people scurrying around in the village to turn into their direction.

"What happened with 'We don't kill humans'?" Bobby's voice stayed calm and low in contrast to Sam's holler.

"That", Sam yanked his arm up and pointed angrily toward the spot were Tahkeome stood, flanked by ranger Bryson and some other rangers, "is no human. That is a psychotic, cold-blooded killer. This human as you call him nearly finished Dean off, maybe had succeeded for all we know. He's also responsible for the death of that hunter, Jason, and I'm sure the murdered hikers are on his head, too. So don't give me that 'We don't kill humans' crap, Bobby!"

Bobby gave a curt nod in response, "Okay. You got it. But how do you explain your actions to all the people swarming over the place? Except Bryson no one knows about the bird-thing."

Sam chewed on his cheeks, his eyes darting between his friend and the burnt areal. "Watch me", he growled before stomped off toward the thing responsible for all that, followed by Bobby who let his gaze wander over the bustling firemen.

The younger Winchester approached the little crowd gathering around the SUV. He got a good look at ranger Bryson now, a broad-shouldered man in his mid-fifties, his short blond hair hidden by a beige hat. He greeted Sam with a single nod, his warm and friendly face signaling him that he knew exactly what lured in the dark.

Sam's eyes shot to Tahkeome, who stood unmoving, his hands handcuffed behind his back, flanked by two other armed rangers who had a tight grip on his upper arms. The old Indian was staring into nothingness with blind eyes, his face the same stony mask Sam had come to loathe. Before the young hunter could lunge forward and strangle the wizard right here and now, Bobby raised his arm and stopped Sam in his tracks.

"Colin", he addressed ranger Bryson politely, "I think we're okay here. You can send your men home."

Ranger Colin Bryson exchanged glances with Bobby, looked once more at Sam before he secured his rifle. "Okay Bobby", he said, "We're over there, check out the damage. Call if you need help here." With that, the ranger jerked his head and marched off, the two other men abandoning their post and following him.

During the whole interaction, Sam hadn't taken his eyes from the Indian standing in front of him. Pure hatred was flowing through his veins, the urge to just take Dean's gun from his waistband and put a bullet into the man's forehead being unnaturally strong. It was the last ounce of logic controlling his mind and body that helped Sam to keep his hands still and the gun where it was.

If one of the people here witnessed him killing the Indian off, he'd be in big trouble.

"Sam."

The young hunter gritted his teeth at the sound of his name rolling from the wizard's dirty tongue and Sam's patience had to work overtime to keep his cool.

"Don't you dare speak to me", Sam hissed dangerously, stepping closer to the man so that their noses were only inches away. A tiny part of the young Winchester's brain registered that Tahkeome had recognized him although he couldn't see and Sam hadn't spoken a word until now.

The Indian's face lit up slightly, a twitch at the corners of his mouth turning into a small smile. "So you found Dean. It makes me happy to know that the bond between your brother and you is still strong enough."

Sam grabbed the man's collar roughly, "You wanna know what makes me happy? The fact that my voice is the last thing you're going to hear before you go straight to hell, you damn son of a bitch."

Tahkeome chuckled softly. "So be it. I just don't quite understand your rage, Sam. I offered Dean a new home, an new purpose after you left. If this is condemnable, okay, I accept that."

"YOU ALMOST KILLED HIM!" Sam roared, his mind failing to comprehend his opponent's mindset.

"I did not. I would have helped him to get stronger, more powerful, mighty. You are the one that doomed him, by coming back, by trying to rip him from my hands. Tell me, is it common practice with you civilized humans to reclaim things you have given away willingly?"

That was enough for Sam. With a cry of rage he yanked Tahkeome from his feet and threw him forcefully to the ground, pulling the .45 from the back of his pants and aiming the gun at the Indian. From the corner of his eye he saw Bobby change his position, trying to work as a visual cover for the people working to save the village and forest.

Pulling the hammer back, Sam watched the wizard scramble clumsily to his knees. The hunter noticed the slight tremble in his aim, the gun wavering in his tight grip. He couldn't pinpoint wether it came from his own exhaustion, the unbearable fear for Dean that ate him up, the anger and hate that raged inside of him. Or if it was indeed the fact that he was about to shoot an old man, kneeling in front of him, unseeing, the wrinkled face lined and furrowed.

_No. Not just an old man. A monster. A killer. A danger to everyone._

Sam readjusted the grip on the weapon, the handle slick from his sweaty hands. He darted red-rimmed eyes up to Bobby, who stood opposite him, a shotgun trained on the Indian, the older hunter's face serene and emotionless.

_Isn't there a germ of truth behind his words, Sam? Would you flip out like this if that Indian wouldn't have managed to twist the knife in the wound? Maybe you have once again ruined something for Dean, maybe he would have accepted the wizard's offer, ever thought of that?_

"NO!" Sam barked, silencing his inner voice, cursing it for never shutting up. He noticed Bobby jerk a bit and the other hunter's gaze on him. Sam licked his lips and clenched his jaw so hard he could hear the teeth grind together. He would end this now. Enough with the mind games.

"I will save you further trouble", Tahkeome spoke up calmly, "I am old. I am tired. And I know you will shoot me if I won't act first, so my life ends here in any case. I do not ask you to understand what I did, you would not. See, I lost everything, everyone I loved. Maybe this made me angry, embittered and hate-filled toward every human being. It is all the more out of all reason to me how brothers so close go separate ways so willingly. Brothers are meant to walk side by side, not away from each other."

For a moment the only thing Sam was able to to was stare at the Indian in front of him. The heavy gun in his hand seemed forgotten, the surroundings faded, his intention of killing the wizard a blur. And suddenly Tahkeome seemed to look straight at him, the unseeing eyes plunging straight into Sam's green ones and the young hunter staggered back slightly.

"You two are warriors in the same fight. Don't fight against each other."

The morning sky that had just banished the black of the night seemed to shrink, dark clouds appearing out of nowhere and gather over the small crowd. Sam and Bobby looked up in surprise.

"Sam!" Bobby shouted warningly and lowered his gun, fumbling in his jacket pocket, pulling out the sheet of paper he had used earlier to down the Thunderbird. Sam raised the .45 again and aimed at the Indian's head but before he was able to pull the trigger, a vivid flash of lightning illuminated the darkened area, accompanied by a peal of thunder.

Sam cried out, startled and dazzled by the light, and threw himself around, his arms protectively wrapped around his head. He heard Bobby yell out, too, heard screams and shouts from other people before everything went still again.

It took Sam a few seconds to move again. Slowly, he rotated his body back to face the spot Tahkeome just had occupied. He dropped his arms and blinked, the blinding flash from moments ago still dotting his vision with white and black spots. What he saw and worse, smelled, let him rip one arm right back up and cover his nose.

The old Indian was no more. Kneeling on the ground was a black, charred figure, body proportions and posture still intact – Sam felt himself reminded of Pompeii and the way the corpses had been preserved by the magma and ashes. Clouds of smoke wafted from the horrible statue and the breath-taking stench of burned flesh filled the air.

Sam stumbled backwards, the half of his face as deeply buried in the crook of his arm as possible, his eyes watering from the smell, his stomach rebelling against the whole scene in front of him. Through blurry eyes he watched Bobby round the black sculpture, the older man's face too covered with one hand. He raised the shotgun and took a small step toward the figure, prodding at it with the tip of the weapon. Tahkeome's charred form withstood three nudges with the barrel before it collapsed, crumbling into black, fetid dust, leaving nothing more than a pathetic heap of ashes.

The two hunters stared in silence at the remains of their once powerful enemy. Only when the voice of ranger Bryson sounded from further down the village, Sam and Bobby remembered how to move.

"Bobby? Sam? Is everything alright?"

Bobby blinked and gave Sam a flabbergasted look, before he licked his lips and called, "Y...yeah...we're good..."

Quick footfalls announced the ranger's approach and when the green-uniformed man reached the two hunters, he screwed up his nose in disgust at the sight and stench that greeted him on the ground.

"I'm not going to ask", he hissed, putting a fist up to his mouth, eyeing the black heap.

"You okay?" Sam asked, remembering the raised voices and shouts during the lightning strike.

"Yes", ranger Bryson replied, "The firemen are just a bit shaken, that's all. We don't have miniature thunderstorms such as this around here very often, you know." He chuckled softly and pulled the hat from his head, running a hand through his hair before he placed the huge thing back up. "Okay, are we done here? I'm going to have one hell of a story to make up to cover what really happened here."

"Thanks for your help", Bobby answered and shook the other man's hand, "We owe ya."

"No hard feelings. Hunters must stick together." Ranger Bryson reached out to Sam to repeat the handshake.

"Is it possible that you give us a ride to the hospital?" the young Winchester asked, "Please. I need to be there and...I don't know..."

"Of course it's possible. Hop in, I'll be there in a minute." With that, Bryson walked over to his colleagues to give notice of his departure, while Sam and Bobby got on the SUV, each man still buried in thoughts of what they had just witnessed. Sam climbed onto the passenger seat, closed the door with a tired sigh and let his head drop heavily against the window.

He should have felt liberated. Relieved over the fact that the threat was eliminated. The words the wizard had spoken should be forgotten, erased from his mind, tossed into a box and stowed away into the farthest corner.

A big black hole had settled in his stomach instead. A weight was pulling him down, trying to squash him.

_I offered Dean a new home, an new purpose after you left._

Tahkeome's voice echoed in Sam's head, sending chills down his spine.

_It is all the more out of all reason to me how brothers so close go separate ways so willingly. Brothers are meant to walk side by side, not away from each other._

This whole situation was fucked up. Royally. Sam knew that the Indian had messed with his brain, had used the things he had seen in his and Dean's mind to manipulate them. Had wanted to drive Sam away and, even without knowing if the wizard had spoken with his brother at all, probably had tried to convince Dean to give himself up.

Another wave of hatred washed over him at the thought of what the freak had done to Dean and would have done if he wouldn't had interfered.

The opening of the driver's door interrupted the train of thoughts and he watched with weary eyes as ranger Bryson jumped behind the wheel. The ranger closed the door and dropped his head back against the headrest, sighing, before he shifted into driving position and turned the keys. He put the heavy car into reverse and set back, leaving what was left of the abandoned Indian village behind.

* * *

Sam had his door open even before the green SUV had come to a full stop.

He leaped from the car and rushed past the few paramedics and nurses lingering around in front of the emergency room entrance, earning a few calls of protests he ignored. He didn't even wait for Bobby, didn't bother to talk with the older hunter about what he was going to do next. Stay here with him, head back home, company Bryson with his report.

Sam just didn't care. Right now, his full concern was Dean.

During the silent drive through the woods with Bryson maneuvering the big car through rough, unkempt terrain, the only road leading to the village barely recognizable anymore, the last days and the realization of what had happened had hit Sam full force.

Now, while the young hunter entered the ER and darted frantic eyes around in search for someone, anyone who could tell him where his brother was, he cursed himself for letting them take Dean from him in the first place, scolded himself for being not persistent enough to force those freakin' EMT's to let him fly in that helicopter.

_What if Dean had woken up and I hadn't been there? What if Dean had panicked in the helicopter and I hadn't been available to soothe him? What if Dean's condition had worsened due to my absence?_

_What if Dean was already dead?_

Logic got replaced by pure panic once more. Sam strode to the desk at the far end of the ER so forcefully and determinant that the small nurse standing behind it took a step backwards, gaping at him with large blue eyes.

Sam didn't care. He was sorry for being so loud and harsh to the young woman who wasn't to blame for the mess they had gotten themselves into. He knew he was unreasonable and stubborn while he stood there in the small ER, demanding to get to Dean, shouting at the nurses who came rushing and tried to calm him down. He felt the very part of him gain the upper hand that didn't show itself very often. Sam, the dick. Sam, the asshole. Sam, the nice guy that could rip your head off in case you decided to mess with the people he loves.

But he was so goddamn tired. He was scared. He was sick with worry. He just wanted to see Dean.

At some point realization sank in, pushed by fatigue and hollowness and reason, and Sam decided to just take a break, to stop yelling orders and demands, knowing that it would only serve him in getting kicked out. He heard Bobby talking, felt the older hunter's strong hands taking his upper arms into a firm grip, hands that always managed to pull Sam literally back to the ground and let himself guide to the surprisingly friendly-looking waiting area. He watched the flushed hospital stuff bustle around, some nurses eyeing him distrustfully as if he were some kind of psycho killer, while some other glances directed at him oozed of pity.

The small nurse from the desk suddenly stood in front of him, a plastic cup in her delicate hand. Sam blinked up at her, surprised, hopeful.

"Your brother is still in surgery", she replied to the silent question she seemed to read in Sam's face, "I don't know about his condition, but I'll let you know whenever I get some information."

"Thank you", Sam answered, his strangled voice only slightly above a whisper. He cleared his throat and took the cup from her, a name tag pinned to her light blue shirt catching his eye. "Theresa…I…I apologize for…well…I had no right to yell at you, I'm sorry."

Theresa smiled at him, understanding crossing her features. "It's okay. ER, remember? I'm used to all kinds of emotions. I was just a bit unprepared, that's all." She slid her small hands into the pockets of the blue pants she wore. "Let me know if you need something. I'll be over there." With that she turned and walked back to the desk, leaving Bobby and Sam sitting alone in the deserted waiting area.

Sam watched her go, his mind processing the tiny piece of precious information she had just given him, unaware that in this moment it meant the world to Sam.

Dean was in surgery. Which meant he was alive. Didn't die somewhere up in the sky between the damn forest and the salvaging hospital.

He had made it this far. He wouldn't quit now.

Sam took a sip from the cup and offered it to Bobby, noticing that his friend had been completely overlooked. Bobby threw a disgusted glance at the white plastic thing.

"I assume that this is water?" he asked dryly, sliding his eyes to Sam and pulling his eyebrows up, "Kid. What I need right now is either enriched with loads of alcohol or consists of 100 per cent caffeine. Anything else I'm going to use to wash my hands with."

The young Winchester shrugged and couldn't suppress the tiny smile that caused his lips to twitch while he brought the cup of water to his mouth again to take another sip of the cool liquid. He let his gaze wander over the dark grey seating furniture, tried to distract himself by inspecting the upholstery, the pictures on the wall, even considered to grab one of the magazines stacked neatly on the small table in the corner. But he failed miserably, his thoughts drawn to Dean like cuttings to a magnet, his hopes threatening to climb up too high.

"I know it's a dumb question", Bobby's spoke up beside him, "but how are you holding up?"

Sam huffed out a mirthless laugh, scrunching up the now empty plastic cup, the sound slicing through the waiting room as a sharp contrast to the muted sounds surrounding them, causing some of the already suspicious hospital staff to jerk in surprise and throw him a sour look.

"I'd be better if I'd get some news eventually." He raised the destroyed cup and aimed at the trash bin on the other side of the room, threw the knot of plastic at it and listened to the rustle when it disappeared inside the bin. "I didn't even thank you for coming and saving the day. What did you do back there anyway? That chant that let the thing turn back?"

"I did some research. Turns out that the Thunderbird has some mythical enemies himself." Bobby pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and held it up for Sam to see. "It is believed that the Thunderbird used to hunt the Waterspirit and eat of it's flesh. To defend itself, the Waterspirits had this spell. So, whenever the Thunderbird flew over it's waters an threatened it, the spirits began to chant this spell, which enforced the Thunderbird to assume it's human shape and cause it to plummet down into the water where it drowned."

Sam took the paper and began to read for himself, eyes narrowed, his lips moving. He let the sheet sank and turned raised eyebrows at Bobby. "How did you know this would work? And how to pronounce these…are that even words?"

"Honestly? I didn't. I just gave it a try." The older hunter shrugged in reaction to Sam's eyebrows raising even higher, "What? It worked."

Shaking his head, Sam leaned back on the chair he occupied, shifting as he noticed that his butt had fallen asleep. "And Bryson? Where did he come from? He seemed to be familiar with things such as thunderstorm creating birds."

"He's an old friend of mine. Did some hunts together years ago. When I found out that he's a ranger in that national park I called him straight away. Good thing to have him in that position though, it saves us a of of explaining."

Sam nodded and let his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes. God, he was done. Now that the adrenaline slowly retreated, the exhaustion grew even heavier, got accompanied by a growling stomach and a lot of aching muscles.

While he contemplated to get up and search for a vending machine that might hold coffee and a chocolate bar, his body decided to snatch a big piece of rest and before he knew, Sam succumbed to the much needed sleep.

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**To be continued...**


	21. Chapter 21

**Good evening y'all!**

**Worried I might have forgotten you? No way! Just arrived home from a short trip to London and how could I unpack and all that stuff without posting the latest chapter first?**

**So, not much rambling, on with the story...  
**

**

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Chapter 21**

The way his body moved was barely palpable, the hand that had gripped his shoulder to shake him awake gentle and careful. Yet it was enough to startle Sam in a way it nearly made his heart stop.

Gasping sharply, Sam ripped his eyes open and jerked awake at the touch, berating himself for falling asleep in the first place and forcing his mind to boot and switch into hunter-mode instantly. The smell of antiseptic and the sight of the petite nurse, Theresa, cowering in front of him let the memories wash over him like a bucket of ice water.

Green eyes darted frantically from Theresa's calm face over to Bobby, who sat beside him, nodding his chin toward the ER doors. Sam followed his nod and watched a tall elderly man in scrubs emerge from the double doors, talking to another nurse who pointed into their direction.

"Sir?" Theresa tried to grab his attention, "This is Doctor Mantegna, he's your brother's attending physician...". In case she was saying something else it was totally lost on Sam who leaped to his feet and strode towards the doctor, his heart hammering in his chest, it's beat resounding in his ears like a sick disco tune.

He tried to read anything in Dr. Mantegna's face, but wasn't able to slip behind the professional, serene expression the man offered. What surprised Sam the most was the fact that the doctor's appearance had something comforting, his friendly face radiating a calmness that winged Sam's hope immediately. His white and grey full beard was neatly trimmed, moving as a whole when the doctor gave the approaching Winchester a polite smile.

Sam needed everything to keep himself from blurting out the many questions that jumbled through his mind and he gripped the hand the doctor was offering, forcing his own lips to curl into a smile.

"Dr. Mantegna", the physician introduced himself, emphasizing his words with a firm handshake, "And you are the young man who created a sensation in my emergency room?"

Sam gaped at him with huge eyes, momentary dumbfounded. "I'm sorry…I know I…"

"It's okay, as long as nobody got hurt. What's your name, son?"

"I'm…", Sam began, his words faltering while he deliberated over giving away his and Dean's real name, deciding to stick with the truth, "…Sam Winchester."

"And it's your brother I got in there?" The doc turned a bit toward the double doors, as if to reveal their presence.

"Yes, his name's Dean. How is he? Can I see him?"

The doctor held his hands up in a calming manner, "Let's have a seat over there."

Sam watched as the man began to walk off toward the waiting area he had just escaped from, ordering something to Theresa about changing the patient's file from 'John Doe' into 'Dean Winchester'. Suddenly the hunter was feeling really sick. He somehow doubted that a simple 'Your brother is fine.' was something that required a long conversation with the physician. Sam exchanged bewildered glances with Bobby who still stood where they had sat earlier, once again glad the older hunter was with him, was keeping him company, would listen to whatever news were about to come.

Sam's eyes were trained on Dr. Mantegna's back while he walked after him, not seeing the doors and pictures that had served as a welcoming distraction minutes, or hours ago, his mind blank, too trapped in the clutches of anxiety. He sank back on the same chair he had occupied since Bobby had led him there and looked at the doctor, who had taken a seat opposite them, expectantly.

When Dr. Mantegna didn't say anything at first, Sam was sure he would explode. He opened his mouth to hit him with questions when the doctor beat him to it.

"What happened to your brother, Mr Winchester?"

A shiver ran down Sam's spine. Not only because he hadn't thought of a authentic cover story but also because of the doctor's tone. "He was lost in the woods", Sam answered slowly, hoping that the slight tremor in his voice wouldn't invalidate the half-lie. "We found him like this, not sure what exactly happened out there."

The doctor nodded and lowered his gaze, looking as if he was searching for the right words to say. A gesture that let Sam's heart skip a beat.

"I won't sugar-coat this. Your brother arrived here unable to keep breathing on his own and with the EMT's trying to get his heart beating again. It had stopped twice during the flight to the hospital and once again during the surgery, which we had to suspend due to Dean's critical condition. We've been able to stabilize him for now, but I'm afraid there are more surgeries needed as soon as his condition allows it."

A punch in the gut was nothing compared to the impact the doctor's words had on Sam. Waves of heat and coldness took turns in washing over him, slamming into him like surf against the rocks in a bay. His mouth was suddenly desert dry, every swallow a painful overcome of resistance against the giant lump in his throat. The thousands of questions he had wanted to ask had deflagrated into a dense gray fog. The doctor in front of him became blurred behind a wall of tears.

"What can you tell us about Dean's injuries?" Sam registered Bobby speaking up beside him, was once again glad that the old man seemed to keep his cool better then him, even if the gruff voice held a strangled quality.

Dr. Mantegna gave a curt nod and continued, "There are some minor injuries, cuts and bruises, but those are already healing. A concussion, a light one, needs to be observed, but it's not too disturbing. Then there are the injuries which give reason for concern. Dean's suffering from a severe case of smoke intoxication and first and second degree burns. We're also treating a heavy infection caused by what looks like a stab wound to his shoulder, a wound that should have been taken care of a lot sooner I might add."

He paused before he continued, his voice now laced with worry. "But my primary concern are his lungs. We were met with fractures of the second, third and fourth rib on both sides of the ribcage, which caused a pneumothorax to the right lung and severe tissue damage to the left due to the broken ends puncturing them. I honestly don't know how Dean is still alive let alone spent some time wandering a forest. Plus the time he had obviously spent in a fire and the CPR the paramedics had been forced to perform...well..." He paused again, seeming to examine Bobby's and Sam's faces wether they could handle much more or not.

Sam stood abruptly and began to pace, the air around him suddenly too thick. He ran both hands through his hair in a desperate gesture, struggling to keep it together. There were too many pairs of eyes on him, too many people who demanded explanations he couldn't give. Not now. Maybe never. He winced at the memories of Dean's ribs moving and giving way under his hands while he had tried to get his brother's heart beating again. Wanted to scream at the thought that the severe injuries to Dean's lungs might be his fault. He walked up to the huge panorama window, staring through it but seeing nothing, his fingers interlaced and resting at the back of his neck.

He dreaded the answer to the question he needed to ask.

"Will he be okay?" He didn't sound like Sam Winchester at the moment. The former law-student. The bad-ass hunter. The man that had seen so much evil and misery. He sounded like a broken little child asking an adult if his little world could be fixed.

The heavy silence that answered him was nearly too much for Sam to bear. He swallowed and closed his eyes, his face scrunching up in a mask of agony.

"Your brother is in a bad shape, Sam", he heard Dr. Mantegna answer, his tone, if possible, even more consoling, "The intoxication, the shoulder wound and the consequent infection spreading through his system for days...those injuries all took their toll on Dean's body. And the damages to his lungs...well. I'm going to be honest with you here. His chances to survive are 2 to 98. And that's a very optimistic assumption." He let out a sigh. "I'm truly sorry I don't have better news for you, I really am. We did the best we could as for the medical part. The rest is on your brother. But I'd advise not to raise your hopes too high."

So there was it. The big bang. The worst case scenario. A doctor telling him in a roundabout way that Dean might not make it this time, wasn't fixable. Again. A situation Sam had feared since the day he was able to think for himself and now was unable to process and accept. Again. Memories of the accident boiled up, the same emotions flooding him, assaulting his sanity once more. Several months had passed since Sam had been forced to listened to some other white coat telling him about the possibility of Dean never waking up again. What he encountered here was a vicious déjà vu, propelling Sam right back to some of the worst hours in his life.

But Dean had made it. Had woken up, had made a full recovery. And no matter how doubtful Dean had been about the circumstances, to Sam everything that mattered was that he was alive.

The hell would he abandon all hope now.

Sam loosened the fingers that still rested on his neck and dropped his arms, ignoring the angry tingling that ran through his limps and turned, composing his features. However, at the sight of the raw misery on Bobby's face, Sam's steely mask nearly faltered.

"Thank you, doctor", Sam addressed the physician, swallowing hard and fighting to keep the edge from his voice, "I...we really appreciate your help. I'd like to see my brother now, if it's possible."

Dr. Mantegna held Sam's gaze and his head bobbed in an approving nod. "Sure, yes. Allow me one last question, please." He waited for Sam's signal to go on before he continued. "Can you tell me what happened to Dean's left arm? His hand? Fingers?"

His breath hitching in his chest, Sam stared thunderstruck at the doctor. He searched his memories for possible explanations, thought about the last time he had seen Dean and if there had been something obviously wrong with his arm.

"What...", he rasped, the urge to clear his throat evident but missing the strength to do so, "what's wrong with it?"

"Broken", the doctor answered and leaned back, "Every single bone. Humerus, elbow, ulna and radius, the phalanges, even the carpals and metacarpals, they're all broken. I'd say something heavy fell on it, but then the muscles and skin would show damages also, but this..." He shook his head and looked at his own hands, turning them, "...it's as if every single bone has been broken manually, deliberately, from someone who knew exactly what to do."

Sam almost felt the color drain from his face.

_'So they put him into a huge mortar and pounded and hit him so that all his bones were broken. Then they moulded him into a new body with wings.'_

The lore of a Thunderbird's birth echoed in his ears loud and clear, realization of the plans the Indian had had for Dean turning his stomach to ice. All the speeches of making Dean stronger, more powerful, mighty. The whole 'Dean is mine' crap. The wizard would have turned his brother into a Thunderbird, had already began to put his sick plan into action when they had disturbed him.

"We're sorry", Bobby spoke up and pulled Sam from his thoughts, "As we said, we found him like this. No clue what happened out there or with his arm in particular."

The doctor nodded and clapped his hands on his thighs before he got up. "Okay. If you'd like to follow me now."

Sam reacted immediately and was behind Dr. Mantegna like a shadow, meeting Bobby's questioning gaze briefly and signaling that he was alright.

Hallways bathed in light, the elevator ride, nurses, patients, visitors and other doctors bustling around, more hallways, the entering of a much quieter area of the hospital through frosted glass doors and Bobby's muffled curses when his boots squeaked with every step on the blue linoleum – it all was lost on the younger Winchester while he walked behind Dr. Mantegna, his mind reeling, his feelings on a rollercoaster ride. Sam didn't even feel his own steps on the floor, to him it was like wading through cotton wool, his legs more dragging than walking.

It was politeness rather then necessity when Dr. Mantegna stopped in front of a big window pane and pointed at it with an outstretched hand. To Sam, the noisy brutal world around him faded out completely when he watched his own precious world lying on the other side of the pane.

He was greeted with a grim copy of the images he had witnessed months ago. Dean lying there, deadly still, ghostly pale, a shadow of his former self, a ventilator keeping him breathing, a gathering of machines keeping him alive.

Without a second glance at everyone present Sam walked determinately along the window to the blue door on it's right hand side and entered Dean's room, leaving the door ajar. The comfortable silence the ICU area offered was even more present in here, more muffled and only disturbed by the fortunately constant beeping of a heart monitor and the whooshing of the respiration apparatus.

Sam's previous energetic strides had turned into quite, cautious footfalls the second he had stepped over the threshold. He didn't dare to breath, fearing that a noise too loud or an intake of breath too forceful might shatter the fragile form that was his brother.

Dean looked reassuringly peaceful, his features relaxed, devoid of the deep furrows pain and anguish had etched onto his face the last time Sam had seen him. The skin on his face was like porcelain, the only reminder of the fire he had been trapped in being angry reddish parts on his cheeks and forehead. His still chapped lips were slightly parted around the ventilator that continued it's life-saving task unwaveringly.

His brother's left arm lay beside his still body, completely wrapped in a dazzling white cast that began at the top of his upper arm and didn't seem to end. Dean's fingers were hidden in the plaster, too, not even the tips visible.

Through the thin light blue hospital gown Sam could see bandages on Dean's shoulder and even thicker ones wrapping his chest.

"Man, you look like a burrito", Sam pointed out, momentary startled at his voice echoing through the silence of the room even if he hadn't spoken loud. He let his gaze wander over Dean's prone form, pushing the desperation over the fact that he had to see his brother like this again into the farthest corner of his mind. "It's good that it's your left one. So you can still shoot and throw punches."

A quiet knock followed by an equally gentle clearing of a throat caused Sam to look back to the door where he found Dr. Mantegna standing.

In one fell swoop the outside world collided with him, the sensible bubble he had just inhabited with Dean bursting. He had indeed totally forgotten about the man. Instantly, Sam turned further and saw Bobby still standing outside in front of the window, tired eyes watching his brother.

Blinking, Sam looked back at the doctor before he darted his eyes back to Dean.

"He's in a coma?" It was rather a statement then a question.

Dr. Mantegna pushed himself off the doorframe and walked up beside Sam, looking down at his patient. "Unfortunately, yes. We're going to perform some tests to identify the causes of it as the day progresses."

The muscle in Sam's jaw jumped in frustration and he nodded jerkily.

"A coma isn't always bad, Sam. Sometimes it's really a good thing, in Dean's case to save him from the pain and to give his body the opportunity to rest and heal. Especially his lungs are in dire need of relief."

Sam didn't reply. His eyes were glued to his brother, searching for any sign that he was still there, yearning for a twitch, an ever so small movement of a tiny muscle, anything.

"Mr. Winchester...Sam? I'm needed in the ER so..." Dr. Mantegna shuffled back toward the door, "If you're up to it maybe you could come down within the next hour, there're some forms to fill in if you don't mind. Visiting hours in this part of the ICU are unlimited, so you are allowed to come and go whenever you like."

"Doctor Mantegna?" The doctor grabbed the door handle and was about to leave when Sam addressed him, the bitterness in his tone replaced by gratefulness. "Thank you. I...thank you for helping Dean. And for not giving up on him despite the...well...bad circumstances."

The older man smiled through his full beard. "You know, I was brutally honest with you about Dean's condition earlier. It's rather critical, the odds are against him, he will most likely die. But this is just the medical status. My heart and my gut feeling tell me otherwise." With that, the good doctor walked from the room, stopped in front of Bobby to shake his hand and disappeared from Sam's line of sight, leaving the young Winchester brother behind with eyes filled with unshed tears and thankful smile.

* * *

Sam didn't know if it was still light outside or if the night had already taken possession of the seemingly never ending nightmare that was this day. He had lost track of time a while ago. He knew he had been sitting at Dean's bedside for hours, had began to keep vigil over his comatose brother right after Dr. Mantegna had left. Bobby had volunteered to take care of the paper work which Sam had gladly accepted and had left afterwards to check on ranger Bryson and find a motel close to the hospital.

Not that Sam would need one, though. He would stand his ground, would stay here by Dean's side, came hell or high water.

The last Winchester standing had spent the previous hours rambling, talking about all and sundry, whispering, reassurances and pleas, and from time to time had shut his mouth to just watch Dean. Breathing. Sleeping. Being at ease. Sam had even considered to sing, to hum something his sibling might like, but had decided against it. No need to add earaches to Dean's injuries.

And so Sam sat, lulled by the dimmed light in the room and the subdued noises that came from outside and listened to the beeping of Dean's heart monitor, partly in awe because of the steadiness and constancy.

A soft knock pulled him from his daze and when the door opened gingerly Sam's face lit up.

"Geez, I totally forgot about you!" He exhaled before he leaped to his feet and grabbed Hel's bandaged hand, pulling his friend into a relieved embrace.

"Oh, thank you very much", the native american replied in a mock-offended voice and pulled the younger hunter close, holding him tight for a few seconds, "Long absent, soon forgotten, huh?" He gave a hearty laugh and let go of Sam, his eyes sliding to the still figure on the bed.

"So this is your big brother?" Hel asked, his smile faltering and the joyful touch retreating from his tone at the sight of the unconscious man. He stepped closer to the bed, tilting his head.

"Yeah", Sam answered, his shoulders sagging, the momentary enthusiasm chastening.

"He isn't doing very well, huh?"

"No...he...", Sam drew in a defeated breath, "Truth to be told the doctor's have very slim hope but...this is Dean, you know? He'll get through this."

Hel's smile returned, an encouraging, convincing one. "I don't doubt it." He then addressed Dean, "I spent some time with his little brother and that's a tough son of a gun, I can tell you that."

Sam snorted at the comment and took a closer look at the other man. Hel's hands and wrists were bandaged and a broad, thick dressing covered his neck. He looked tired and beat.

"That freak got you good, too", the Winchester stated, jerking his chin to the wrapped hands.

"Oh that? That's nothing. I'm good. They didn't even admit me here so…", Hel shrugged before he continued, "And I guess the staff's bugged by my questions. It took them long enough to tell me where I would find you." Hel lowered his gaze at Dean again and added in a quieter tone, "I somehow knew you would be here, keeping an eye on Dean."

The two men stood in silence for a moment before it hit Sam. "Do you have any news on Patrick? Was he taken into this hospital? How is he?" He tried once again to read anything in Hel's face and was relieved to find a confidence he had missed for quite some time.

"He's fine", the older hunter replied, "lost a lot of blood, but all in all he'll live. The doctors are currently working on his back, trying to find out if the paralyzation is permanent or not."

"There's a chance that he'll walk again?"

"Maybe. There's no fracture to his spine, so they're searching for the cause as we speak."

Sam could only nod. So there were good news after all. "You should take a break", he stated, "You look terrible."

"Says the walking dead", came Hel's blunt retort, emphasized by a pair of raised eyebrows.

"I rest when I know he's okay", Sam answered, his voice cracking at the last word and he swallowed, fighting to keep his composure.

"I know", Hel answered softly, gripping Sam's shoulder and squeezing it before he cleared his throat and seemed to shake himself mentally. "Okay then, I'll go and find myself a bed. Maybe I just slip into an empty room somewhere in this demise. I mean, come on, at least I look sick, right?"

Glad about Hel's ability to make him laugh despite the situation Sam's mouth twitched. "You can call Bobby, he went to find a motel."

"Okay, sounds good to me." The Indian fumbled with the bandage on his left hand."Are you going to be okay? Want me to keep you company?"

"No, thanks man. I'm…we're good."

Nodding jerkily, Hel pulled his upper lip in and darted one last look at Dean, "You get well soon, Dean, you hear? Sam here told me so much about his big bro I'm curious to finally meet you in person." He turned to Sam once more and pointed the index finger at him, "And you call me if there are any changes. That's an order."

"I do. Cross my heart."

The pointing index finger turned into a flat hand and Hel slapped Sam's chest with the back of it lightly. "I'll keep in touch." Hel took a few steps backwards, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, his arms outstretched at his sides, "Sleep. A soft mattress. Here I come!"

And with a final wave goodbye he slipped from the room.

Sam watched him disappear with a smile on his face and sighed. The constant beeping pushed itself on the fore again but the joyful mood Hel had spread still lingered in the room, covering the sorrow and grief like a silk cloth.

He didn't know how he could thank Hel for everything the Indian had done for him. Hel had remained steadfastly at his side, was still here, accommodating a motel near the hospital instead of driving home, as far away from the cursed brothers as possible. Would have sat beside him to watch over Dean if Sam had wished for it.

Still smiling, his vision blurring as a result of both, the overwhelming gratefulness and the still present fear for Dean's life, Sam sat back on his chair, grabbed Dean's limp hand and leaned closer to his brother.

"You should meet Hel. I'm sure the two of you would get along very well." A single tear found it's way down Sam's cheek and he once again could only manage a whisper, "I'm here, man. I'm waiting for you to come back. Come on, wake up, Dean."

**

* * *

To be continued...**


	22. Chapter 22

**Good evening y'all!**

**We're almost done here! Hope you all like this chapter.**

**So, not much to say from me tonight, just read and enjoy and in case you're in the mood, please leave a review, no matter if it's good or bad. Any kind of feedback is appreciated.**

* * *

**Chapter 22**

* * *

Minutes became hours. Hours became days. Days became one long, agonizing week, followed by another one.

Sometime in between Bobby had all but physically kicked Sam out of Dean's room, had sent him to the motel and commanded him to grab a shower, use a shaver, take in something more substantial than coffee and 'get some proper sleep for God's sake'.

And Sam had obeyed, exhaustion and fatigue having taken over, the only thing keeping him upright being the constant worry for his brother and the sheer panic of Dean waking up without him being by his side. Sure enough there had been no change in Dean's condition and when Sam had returned after an eighteen hour nap, he had been partly relieved, partly disappointed. But at least 'no change' meant also no worsening, which was good enough for him.

The ventilator had been removed exactly seven days after Dean had arrived, the vitals and machines showing that Dean had begun to breathe on his own and Sam was close to burst in anticipation, had renewed his efforts to simply 'talk' Dean back to consciousness, had held his brother's hand, had refused to go anywhere farther away then the door.

But the only thing that had changed had been Dean's appearance. No longer did he look like a patient, but rather like a young men performing the sleep of the just, the only thing disturbing the sight being a nasal canula.

Over the last days Doctor Mantegna had checked on the brothers twice a day, had spoken reassurances and words of comfort. Hel and Bobby had popped in whenever they could between helping ranger Bryson to pick up the pieces after the whole Thunderbird issue. Ellen had called at least once a day, had asked about Dean, had asked about him.

And once again Sam had marveled at the sympathy, the concern he was met with. At Hel being still here, still circuiting him like a satellite circuits a planet without disrespecting Sam's need to stay close to Dean. And Bobby, who Sam had found sitting with Dean while he was on toilet break. Who had spoken to his older sibling in a way Sam would have never believed that the gruff man was capable of. Softly. Encouraging. Pleading.

But Dean hadn't reacted to anything. Hadn't reacted to nothing. And the longer Sam watched the peaceful, motionless face of his normally ants-in-the-pants-type of a brother, the more he seemed to forget how it looked when Dean was awake. When he smiled. When he laughed. When he frowned.

And that scared the crap out of Sam.

* * *

It was the frown that appeared on Dean's face first.

Barely visible at first and disappearing almost instantly again. It would have passed completely unnoticed.

But Sam was there.

Frozen, he continued to stare at Dean's features, something he had done during the last two weeks and hadn't abandoned until today. He didn't breathe. He didn't so much as twitch. He kept his eyes on Dean's face.

When the second frown appeared, this time lasting longer and followed by a slight jaw clenching, Sam was up from the chair and literally upon Dean immediately.

"Hey. Hey Dean. Hey. Come on. Wake up. That's it. You can do it. Wake up..." A litany of encouragements tumbled from Sam's lips, gently spoken but laced with excitement and hope. He didn't care wether he sounded needy, didn't bother to throw Dean's personal space rule out of the window, didn't mind if his brother would suffer whiplash from the onslaught of words.

He just wanted Dean to hear him, to recognize his voice and cling to it, let himself being pulled out from whatever hole he was stuck in, had been stuck for the last days and weeks.

The frown on Dean's face intensified, his whole face scrunching up slightly and for a second Sam feared that his brother might be in pain. He was about to grab the call button above the bed when, to his surprise, Dean's head rolled toward him, albeit slowly, carefully, only a tiny movement, but definitely searching.

"Dean?" Sam swore when his voice began to crack again but decided to ignore it for now, "Hey. That's it, you're doing great. Now open your eyes, man. Come on."

Sam could have cried out in joy, could have started to bawl in relief as he watched Dean's eyes flutter, the task of opening them seeming to be not feasible, as if the long lashes weighted a ton each.

What had to be long agonizing and annoying seconds for Dean while he struggled to simply open his eyes, was a sight Sam watched in awe and relief. For the first time since days the younger Winchester felt a reaction in Dean's hands, felt the fingers that had been too still for too long close around his own, although there was no strength behind it.

And then Dean was looking at him.

Glassy, tired eyes, the lids on half-mast, the normally sparkling green dulled, but to Sam it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Hey", he whispered, a smile lighting but his face and he noticed that he was about to crush Dean's hand unconsciously. Loosening the grip without letting go he searched his brother's pale face for any signs of recognition. "Took you long enough to come back to us, dude."

It took a few more seconds before Sam witnessed it. The moment Dean realized that he was safe. That he was alive. That the nightmare he had endured was finally over. That Sam was with him. The crumbled walls laying in ashes at Dean's feet at the moment allowing Sam an unfiltered sight at his sibling's real emotions and feelings.

_You came for me. You didn't leave. _

Dean licked his lips and looked as if he was about to say something when his face scrunched up once more, the eyes that had fought so hard to open squeezing shut, lips pulling back and exposing gritted teeth. His breathing quickened, turning into short gasps.

Eyes darting from his brother's agonized expression to the heart monitor going nuts Sam didn't hesitate this time and grasped the call button, at the same time putting his other hand gently on Dean's chest to calm him down.

"Shhh. Relax. I'm calling a nurse, okay?" Sam's tone was surprisingly quiet, the panic that currently seared through him having no direct access to his voice. When the nurses began to swarm about them, Sam willed some of his unexpected calmness into Dean, the scurrying and demanding around them fading out.

Only when someone touched his shoulder and called his name he looked up to find Dr. Mantegna stand beside him.

"Sam? Could you wait outside, please? We need room to take care of him." At first, Sam didn't move, refused to let his brother alone. "Don't worry, everything's okay. We just need to check on him, you can watch us through the window."

Once again, Sam could only obey, could only let himself guide outside by a familiar nurse who stayed with him, mirroring his posture. Together they watched the scene unfold before them.

"What's happening?" Sam asked, his eyes glued to the bustling taking place inside Dean's room.

"He's seizing", the nurse answered softly and Sam slid his eyes over, recognizing the voice as Theresa's. She glanced at him and smiled. "This is a good sign actually. It means his muscles are resuming their work."

"Then why is he in pain?"

"Because of his injuries. They don't handle the contractions very well."

Sam watched as his brother stilled, his face that had been so full of emotions earlier slackening again while he seemed to drop back into the abyss Sam had pulled him from. The flurry of activity subsided and the young hunter tried to keep his anger at bay over the fact that Dean had been once again medicinally pushed under.

He knew it was necessary to spare his brother from the intense pain and anguish. And he knew he would be able to pull Dean to the surface again if he needed to. If Dean wouldn't find his way back on his own.

* * *

He listened to the beeping. Concentrated on every single beat, tried to recognize a pattern, to identify a difference in pitch or rhythm.

It had taken Dean quite some time to realize that it was his own heart he was listening to, the penetrating sound being the only tangible item in the dark void he was currently trapped in. Had been forcefully pushed back into.

At least the pain had stopped and was almost gone now, a warmth spreading through him, saving him from the tearing and pulling that had blinded him, had ripped him from the reality he had fought so hard to crawl back into.

Where Sam had been.

After hearing Sam's voice in his ear everything had blurred, the surroundings, the sounds, the smells – the only thing that counted had been Dean's need to see his brother. Check if he was okay. Make sure that he was indeed there. By his side.

He had come for him. Hadn't left.

Memories of a fire worked their way into his muddled brain, the feeling of suffocation, the heat on his skin, the stench of singed hair.

And Sam.

And with Sam relief had come. Heat had made way for coldness, the knot that had corded up his throat had loosened, had cleared the way for precious air. The agony had retreated, had yielded to a relaxation, Sam's voice and touch giving Dean a glimmer of home.

He was collecting his strength now. He knew that the fact that he could hear the beeping meant that he was close to reaching his goal of escape this prison.

_Wake up, Dean. Come on, you're such a tough son of a bitch and now you are too weak to open your freakin' eyes? How pathetic is that?_

Dean had hated that tone when it had come from his father's mouth, but it helped a lot now that he heard it in his mind. He struggled with the weight his eyelids seemed to hold but eventually the darkness transformed from pitch black to different shades of gray until different shapes and muted colors appeared in front of his eyes.

He realized that he hadn't taken a look at the room when he had woken up earlier, his only concern having been Sam, the only thing he had been able to apprehend being his voice and face.

Blinking sluggishly several times and rolling his head he managed to allocate the shapes and colors in the room. The big blue rectangle being the door, the smaller black, blinking one being the heart monitor, the blue and gray and white shapes being every kind of machinery and medical equipment.

The huddled, plaid form beside him being his sleeping brother.

Dean would have burst out laughing if he had the strength, the sight being almost cute. Sam sat on a chair as close to the bed as possible while his upper body was draped onto Dean's bed, head resting on Sam's crossed arms. A soft snoring topped the picture off.

A weak smile gracing his features, Dean watched his little brother sleep for a while. Even from his position and the way Sam lay on the bed Dean noticed how bad his sibling looked. The stubble on Sam's face didn't qualify as stubble anymore and the dark circles under Sam's eyes attested his exhaustion. How long had that kid been on his feet? How long had he been out?

Dean glanced down at his body, tried to take stock of his condition and frowned at the sight of the cast that held his left arm together.

That asshole.

He had really tried. The crazy bigwig had really broken his bones, would have broken his whole skeleton if Sam hadn't appeared in time. Would have used his medicine man mojo to turn him into some kind of supernatural grass parakeet.

A shudder ran down his body and Dean closed his eyes briefly. Not now. He wasn't in the mood to think about this now. It was over, right? If he was here and Sam was, too, then it meant it was over.

He rolled his head again to look at Sam, the smile returning. After drinking in the peaceful moment, Dean slid his right arm along the mattress, surprised at how much effort it took, and gently nudged the top of Sam's head.

* * *

Sam was dreaming. No nightmare, but not a pleasant one either. So when a nurse woke him in a rather unconventional way by tapping the top of his head, he wasn't really annoyed to escape the assault of confusing images.

He groaned and fortunately remembered that one part of his body had made itself comfortable on Dean's bed when he slid backwards and pulled himself upright, rubbing his eyes and resisting the urge to scratch himself everywhere. Damn bed bugs.

The itchiness was instantly forgotten when he noticed that Dean was smiling at him.

"Hey!" Sam's hands dropped down on his thighs and he leaned forward, absorbing Dean's presence, mirroring his brother's weak grin he had missed so much, had feared to never see again. "You're awake!"

Dean huffed slightly, "Thank God...Captain Obvious is here", the older Winchester whispered, his voice faint and barely audible.

Sam felt his eyes watering at the cheeky remark, joy over the simple fact that his brother was lucid enough to retort in his usual manner making him laugh heartily. "I was just...I mean...man, I'm sitting my ass flat here since almost two weeks, so yeah, I'm a bit stunned right now."

The older brother's tired smile faded at the statement and Dean's expression turned disbelieving, almost shocked. "Two weeks? That's how long I've been out?", the question being only a breathe.

Sam nodded, his own laughing ebbing away. "Yeah. You woke up briefly two days ago, do you remember?" He watched while Dean's stare grew vacant, his sibling rummaging through his mind.

"I remember that", came the soft reply before Dean grimaced, "Wasn't pleasant, though."

Again, Sam gave a gentle nod, "The doctors had to sedate you again then, because of the pain. Your body couldn't handle it. They extended your quasi natural coma by switching you into a barbiturate-induced one." He nearly choked on the last words when he watched Dean's face turn into a question mark and his eyebrows creeping up to his hairline.

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah. Medicine. Creepy stuff."

"Definitely."

The two brothers lapsed into silence and Sam monitored his older brother closely, searching his pale face for any signs of pain. He knew he should call a nurse, report that Dean was finally awake and aware, even talking. But at the moment he had no intention to do so, to have some nurses and the good doc march in to poke and prod his brother, wheel him away for tests and scans. At the moment, he wanted to relish Dean's presence.

"So, how are you feeling? How's the pain?" Sam winced when Dean flinched at the sound of his voice, the older man having been immersed in looking around the room and getting his bearings.

"'M good. Everything's numb. Remind me to swipe some of those pain meds for our med kit later..." Dean broke off and dropped his gaze, "Well, my med kit."

The pang of hurt the statement caused stabbed right through Sam's heart. He had almost forgotten about the crack in their relationship, the issue that had gotten the ball rolling in the first place. The reason why all this had happened and why he had almost lost his brother. "Dean..."

"Don't." The demand was soft, but emphatic, "Not now, okay? Just...let's take a rain check with that one, alright?"

Swallowing hard, Sam nodded for the umpteenth time and darted his eyes away from the pallor of Dean's face, watching the line on the heart monitor.

"How's Sitting Bull doing?"

Sam jerked his head back and frowned, wondering how Dean knew about Hel when he realized it wasn't the fellow hunter his brother was talking about. A satisfied grin crept over Sam's features, a slight relief over the change of subject letting him relax again. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust..." he stated in a solemn tone.

"Literally?" Dean once again raised his eyebrows and tilted his head down in a 'You've got to be kidding me' gesture.

"Yep. Struck by lightning to be exact."

"Huh." Dean slid his gaze to his knees and legs, seeming to process what he just heard before he looked back at Sam, his face lit up with the broadest smile the younger Winchester had witnessed since his brother had woken up. "Seems fitting."

The two men silenced again, Sam resuming the inconspicuous observation of Dean's face, this time being a bit shocked at the pure exhaustion written all over it. He noticed his brother's eyes were already beginning to droop, the way his eyes remained longer closed with every blink then open, the time awake and the small conversation taking strength Dean had yet to gain.

"Dean?"

It took a few seconds for Dean to answer, "Yeah?"

"You okay? Any pain?"

A shake of the head was Sam's answer, "No pain", Dean mumbled, blinking several times, "just tired."

"Okay then. Why don't you get some sleep? We can talk later."

"Wait a sec", Dean tensed and looked as if he was about to sit up, "What did you do out there anyway? Last time I checked you were supposed to sit in a bus."

"Long story", Sam replied, putting a hand on Dean's good shoulder to keep him from struggling up, which turned out to be completely unnecessary because the older brother slumped back into the mattress of his own accord due.

"Go to sleep", Sam ordered softly, "We can talk about everything later. And I have the feeling you'll like the story I'm going to tell you."

Dean closed his eyes and the slight smile reappeared. "You too", he breathed.

"What me too?"

"Sleep." It was the last thing Dean managed before his breathing evened out.

* * *

When he struggled his eyes open the next time, Dean was sure he was dead and his father sat beside him.

Blinking frantically, he stared at the dark dressed figure, cursing when his vision took it's sweet time to clear. When it finally did, Dean wasn't sure wether he was glad or disappointed that the person wasn't dad.

The first thing Dean noticed was that the guy looked like he had fought a pissed off combine harvester, a healing gash on his forehead and bandaged hands, wrists and the neck standing out against his tanned skin. The second thing was the fact that Dean indeed seemed to attract Amerindians like a flame attracts moths, the guy keeping him company looking suspiciously like another clan chief.

_Well, thank you very much. As if I hadn't my fair share of those guys lately._

He scrutinized the man warily and watched as he scribbled something into what looked like a hunter's journal.

"This isn't my best side, you know", Dean rasped, sleep still wrapping it's tentacles around him. He eyed the stranger who looked up from his journal with a smile on his face.

"Come again?"

"In case you're drawing a picture of me. Take my left, good side's there."

The man dropped his gaze to the journal and back up at him again, his smile turning into a slight chuckle. "Well. As it's just a scribble, I guess your less pretty side will do. I remember to take your left when I visit again tomorrow." He put the pen into the journal and closed it, stuffing it into a worn leather bag beside the chair he sat on. He leaned forward and stretched out his right hand. "I'm glad to finally meet you, Dean Winchester."

At Dean's frown he added, "I'm Helushka, people call me Hel. Sam didn't tell you about me yet?"

So Sam hadn't bothered to use fake names. Awesome. And now he was here, shut in, a total stranger, a hunter to be exact, sitting beside him, knowing his real name. Just awesome.

Fumbling with the buttons of his bed he raised the upper part into a position were he at least felt less like an invalid, the change causing him to fight a wave of nausea and dizziness. Swallowing, the older Winchester eyed Hel's outstretched hand before he took it hesitantly, the frown still in place. "Speaking of", he stated, "Where's he?"

"Sam? He'll be back soon, he's picking someone up."

Dean nodded slowly, the distrust seeping through every pore. "You a hunter?"

The man, Hel, leaned back, his expression so full of understanding and knowledge that Dean felt instantly guilty for being so reserved. "I am. Actually I was just about documenting the last hunt into my journal." He tipped his chin toward the leather bag and scrunched up his nose in disgust, "Nasty son of a bitch, that one. All feathery and far too loud for my liking."

_Huh._

Dean blinked at him owlishly, completely dumbfounded. "Wait a minute...you?"

"Sam and I have been the search & rescue team out there, looking for you in that national park."

The Winchester knew he stood there like a gibbering idiot right now, not only because of his staring and his mouth being agape, "Okay."

"I'm glad we found you in time. And I'm sorry it took us that long. I'm truly sorry." The words were spoken quietly, apologizing. There was so much honesty in Hel's eyes, the dark orbs almost seeking for forgiveness that it shook Dean to the core.

"It's...um...it's okay, really", Dean stuttered, equally quiet, before he cleared his throat and added with a nervous chuckle, "In that case I owe you a big fat thank you, I guess."

Hel smiled, "Never mind. It was worth every second, you know. But hey..." he leaned forward again and tapped lightly on Dean's forearm, "...I shouldn't be the one telling you about the adventure."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes because of the second time he was being staved off now, Dean opened his mouth to reply when a knock pulled his attention to the door.

Despite the friendly atmosphere and the trust he had began to build up to Hel, a feeling of warmth and relief flooded Dean at the sight of Sam peering into the room through the cautiously opened door. The relief seemed to be on both sides as his little brother's face lit up in a smile as he spotted Dean being awake.

"Good morning there!" Sam cheered and opened the door as far as possible, though he stayed out of the room.

"The morning's only good if there's a cup of coffee in one of your oversized paws", Dean retorted, trying to get a glimpse of what or who Sam was nodding to.

"I got something better", came Sam's reply and he stepped back, clearing the way for a familiar figure entering the room in a wheelchair.

Again staring was the only thing Dean was capable of at first. He watched as a grinning Patrick wheeled in, dressed in sweatpants and a shirt, stopping right in front of his bed and raising in hand in a high-five-gesture, gripping Dean's hand and squeezing it.

"Dean! Good to see you again, man!" he exclaimed, letting go again, the sheer joy of seeing the Winchester brother written all over his face.

"Jesus Christ, Pat? What the hell are you doing in that thing?" To say Dean was stunned was the understatement of the year. He knew that the last time he had seen the young hunter he had walked away on his two feet. To see him in a wheelchair sent shivers down his spine, left him cursing at the huge, black hole that was his knowledge over the things that had happened during the quest to find him.

"Don't worry, I'll be on my feet in no time. It's a swelling pinching some nerves caused by the impact. When it's gone I'm as good as new, including walking and all the stuff. And I'll have a nice scar on my thigh to show the ladies reminding me of that little adventure back there."

Not sure wether he was able to grin over what he was just hearing Dean kept on goggling at Patrick, his face a mask of absolute disbelief. He licked his lips and addressed the three men standing beside him. "Okay, maybe someone could be so kind and fill me in, that whole lack-of-knowledge thing starts to get on my nerves."

* * *

**Epilogue's following...**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23 – EPILOGUE**

* * *

The cool morning air felt good in his lungs. They still hurt with every breath he drew in, were still healing and caused him to flinch in pain when he inhaled too sharply. One of many painful reminders of another occasion he had escaped alive.

Taking a sip from the water bottle and grimacing even before the stale liquid entered his mouth, Dean shifted, his butt getting numb from sitting on the wooden stairs too long. He watched the sunrise, blinked when the first rays of light hit his face, welcomed the chills that ran through his body due to the cold beginning of the day.

Behind him, the Roadhouse was still asleep, Sam and the others having allowed themselves the luxury of a small celebration over the successful hunt the night before. Lucky for them, they had been able to indulge in booze, which had been refused to Dean due to the antibiotics he still needed to take. The same damn reason he wasn't allowed to drink coffee right now.

Dean fumbled with the bottle top of his water one-handed, his left arm resting on his knee, the cast being heavy and uncomfortable. They had released him from hospital yesterday morning, the first time he could remember that he had actually been released and hadn't signed out AMA the minute he had been able to get out of bed under his own steam.

Truth to be told, he had had no real intention to get out of the hospital. He couldn't march into the next bar and hustle some locals or get a proper drink thanks to the meds he needed to take and the huge cast that held his bones in place. Not even a new hunt was waiting for him. Not even Sam would wait much longer.

The sting of unwelcome tears caused Dean to wipe at his eyes angrily, painful memories of the conversations and fights he and his brother had had before Dean had gone missing pulling him back down to earth with a bang. He had thought that he was over it. Had believed that walking away from Sam and dive headfirst into a new hunt would cure him, would make things easier, would help him to accept Sam's decision.

And then he had screwed up. Had become a victim. Had experienced firsthand how fast everything could go south without someone having your back. Had learned the hard way that he wasn't as good on his own as he was with Sam by his side.

Taking another angry sip from the bottle Dean's gaze wandered over to the Impala. The muscle car stood where Dean had left her weeks ago, the black paintwork having lost the normally shiny quality thanks to dust and weather. Sliding tired eyes down to the cast, Dean considered how long it would take him to wash and polish his baby with only one hand before he dismissed the idea.

At least he could drive. He could just get behind the wheel, put a gear in, no need to use his left for all that stuff, and just drive. No painful goodbyes to Sam, spare them a rerun of the awkward moments weeks ago. He didn't know why Sam was still here anyway. After Dean had woken up in the hospital, he had spent another two weeks in there, and Sam had stayed although he could have taken his bags and travel off to California as he had intended to do before all this had happened.

But he didn't.

He had visited Dean every day, had filled him in about that evening when Seth had stumbled into the Roadhouse, about Hel and him searching for Dean in the woods, how they found Patrick and their encounters with the Thunderbird's powers.

Not once had Sam pulled Dean's leg about the fact that the little brother had had to come to the rescue. Not once did Sam ask him what he had been thinking by marching through the forest alone and hurt. And no matter how grateful Dean was about Sam's casualness or sensitivity, it bothered him to no end that he had fucked up, his pride wounded, his self esteem gutted.

At this very moment everything Dean wanted to do was take his stuff, get into his car and just drive off.

"Mind if I join you?" a voice from behind startled Dean and he dropped the water bottle. It was Patrick who stepped down the stairs and gingerly bend down, grabbing the wayward plastic bottle and handed it back to Dean, who nodded a thanks.

"Nah", he replied, shifting a little to make room for the slightly hobbling kid although the stairs were broad enough for five men their size, "how are you doing there? Back okay?"

Lowering himself slowly beside the older Winchester and landing carefully on his butt with a sigh, Patrick shook his head. "It's not entirely my back that gives me a hard fight right now." He looked at Dean before he let out a short burst of laughter.

"Ah, I see. So Hel should teach you how to hold your liquor first." Dean smiled at the young hunter before he slid his gaze back over the parking lot.

"Hey, did you see how much I had? That was...come on...how many beers? It was a lot!"

"Transitory teetotaler, remember?" Dean wiggled the water bottle, causing the liquid to dabble, "I totally know how many drinks either of you had, even if you don't remember and trust me, you hadn't much, kiddo."

The enraged expression on Patrick's face was enough to make Dean snort but when the kid leaned forward, gripping his head with both hands and mumbling something like "Gosh, it sure feels like it had been a whole beer barrel..." Dean couldn't help but chuckle. It sucked out loud to sit in a bar sipping soda water all night long while all the others had one beer after another, followed by whiskey and scotch. But watching them struggle with their killer hangovers the next morning was totally worth the forced abstinence.

"Man, I hope Hel's better off than me", Patrick groaned, his voice muffled while his head still hung low between his knees. "He really hadn't much..." He stopped abruptly, raised his head slowly and looked at Dean, who met his tired gaze with a pair of raised eyebrows and a tilted head. "Awww, maaaaan, guess we need a taxi then...", was the younger man's answer when he dropped his head again.

The two men sat in silence for a while, the peaceful quiet occasionally interrupted by a groan from Patrick.

"So", Dean cleared his throat, "the two of you head out today?"

Raising his head again and focusing on something solid in the distance, Patrick frowned as if Dean had asked him to solve a difficult math problem. "Yeah. Sometime after breakfast, I guess."

"Okay. Good." Another short pause before Dean added, "I'm glad the two of you will stick together. I think you make a great team."

"I'm grateful. I had a lot of time to think about how I go on, lying around in the hospital. Continue hunting? Get a job? Enroll at a university?" The younger man sighed and began to fidget with his fingernails, "Jason was the one who introduced me into the whole hunting thing. And I kinda enjoy it. Now that he's gone I feel it's my purpose to continue, you know? But I know I have a lot to learn and I also know that I wouldn't survive five minutes alone. So, when Hel asked me if I might wanna go with him, hunt with him, it was...well...there wasn't much to think about. I believe Hel is the right one to pursue what Jason had begun."

Dean could only nod although Patrick's words felt like someone was slamming a knife into him and twisting it, a lump lodging itself in his throat.

_Is it such a great feeling to wake up in a different motel room every day, to risk your life every day?_

_I want a life, Dean. Without traveling around, without killing things, without fearing to lose exactly this family I have left. I caught a glimpse of normal when I was with Jessica and I loved it. I want it back. As I told you before, I'm not going to do this for the rest of my life._

Sam's words echoed in his ears. And all of a sudden Dean felt a surge of anger rising up in him, a slight feeling of unfairness causing him to tighten his grip on the bottle.

There sat Patrick, a kid he barely knew, had spent a few days with, days that hadn't even been the most heroical ones in his life, talking in a way Dean wished his own brother would have ever talked like. Would have felt for the so called family business the way Patrick did. Glowing. Proud. Excited.

Swallowing hard Dean cleared his throat again. "Will you be okay?"

"I will", Patrick replied, suddenly really awake and somber, "Not tomorrow. Not next week. But anytime soon. Time is a great healer and that stuff, right?" Dean felt the kid's eyes on him. "Will you?"

"What?"

"Be okay? I mean, with Sam leaving and you hunting alone...maybe you could join us, too? Hey, I bet we'll kill so many evil dicks it will go down in history!" The enthusiasm causing Patrick's face to brighten up cajoled Dean and he had to smirk. God, he loved that kid. He would miss him.

"I'm good on my own", the Winchester replied and frowned the second the words left his mouth, "Well, normally I am. When no oversized legends try to turn me into one of them."

Patrick snorted and fumbled with his jacket pocket, pulling a pen and a napkin from it. "This is my cell phone number", he said and wrote some scrawly numbers down, "A brand new one, fits perfectly to the brand new cell phone I got, so call me." He held the crumpled napkin out to Dean who took it with a questioning look.

"Are you hitting on me?"

"You're a jerk" Patrick replied, rolling his eyes, "It's just...well, I'd like to stay in contact, that's all. So, give me a call from time to time, okay? Let me know how you're doing. And in case you change your mind about the lonely cowboy stuff..."

"...I call you, I get it."

Patrick put the pen back with a satisfied nod and the two of them lapsed into silence again, letting the rays of the morning sun warm their faces.

Dean wasn't sure if he was good. Didn't quite trust the confidence he tried to emanate. But he would try. He just had to.

* * *

Ellen had insisted to dish a breakfast that would have made a famed chef blush. Her comment to the men's 'Jesus, Ellen, that wouldn't have been necessary!' had simply been 'I don't have people here often I feel the need to lay my mother hen side on, especially when there so many of them worth the trouble.'

At the sight of the bountiful table that had greeted Sam this morning in the seating area of the Roadhouse after he had stumbled from the spare room Dean and he shared his heart and mind had leaped for joy while his stomach had raised an objection immediately. He had noticed his mistake the moment the whiskey had entered his mouth and had taken the same way the five or six beers had gone last night, had known that he would absolutely regret this in the morning hours. But the mind was easy to outvote and hush with the friendly help from Jack and Jim, so now he had to cope with the aftermath.

And fortunately, Ellen's breakfast had included a dose of Aspirin for everyone who was in the need of it.

The atmosphere had been cheerful albeit a bit sleepy due to the hangovers Sam, Patrick and Ellen were handling and although Hel had his fair share of beer and bourbon he was eerily fit and well rested this morning. Therefore he had had no problems to join Dean and Bobby, who had decided to refrain from drinking too much last night because of his plans to check into a new hunt near the Roadhouse right after breakfast, in wolfing down the scrambled eggs with bacon, buns and pies.

Now, Sam was nibbling on a dry bun he had snatched about half an hour ago and watched his new friends, his old friends and his brother talk, eat and laugh together.

He was still a bit shaken from waking up today only to find Dean's bed empty. The sight had sent spikes of fear and concern through him, and only with difficulty had he been able to calm down again, reminding himself that his brother was a big boy, regardless of what had happened. But only when he had found Dean sitting on the stairs outside chatting with Patrick he had been able to relax completely.

He couldn't help but notice the change in Dean's behavior since he had been released from the hospital. The walls were up and in place again, seemed to be stronger and even thicker then before. And though Dean talked to him like he had always done, Sam had the feeling that his sibling was avoiding him, was trying to keep his distance in a somehow subtle way.

So Sam had decided to have his meager breakfast alone at the counter, laptop in front of his nose, but not paying attention to the contents of the websites he was scrolling through. A part of him was mocking him, teasing him for being a girl, for seating himself away from the others only to check out if Dean would maybe notice his brooding and come over. The other part was delighted to have a chunk of space and time on his own, apart from the little crowd. So he had some more time to think what his plans would be. How his future would look. Where his next step would lead him.

Bobby was the first to set out. As planned he left the Roadhouse after he had inhaled his last piece of pie and had said his goodbyes, not without letting 'his idjits' know that they owed him. Again.

Ellen had excused herself and had headed out to do some groceries, leaving the Winchesters to watch over the Roadhouse until she would be back.

Some time around noon Hel announced his departure and Patrick was a bit disappointed to abandon Dean's tutorial about the Impala and the missed opportunity to get behind the muscle car's wheel himself.

Watching Hel as he threw the last bag into the Cherokee's trunk, Sam leaned against the black truck's hood, his hands in his pockets. The Indian slapped his hands together and looked around.

"Okay, where are the kids?" he asked, his voice high-pitched in a mock-female tone.

Sam snorted, "Leave it Hel, the soccer mum style doesn't suit you."

"Yeah, I know. Just always wanted to say that." Hel went silent and Sam noticed that he began to fidget with his hands. A gesture he hadn't ever witnessed on his companion until now. "So, you think you'll ever get into touch with us or is this a disappear, never to be seen again thing?"

"No. Yeah. Of course I'll keep in touch. Always comes handy to have a native American in the circle of friends and acquaintances, right?" The chuckle the young Winchester added held a painful quiver.

"You bet."

The playful banter ebbed away, the inevitable parting dampening the mood. Finding friends in their kind of business was hard enough, with all the distrust and caution hunters faced each other. And after you found one, it was too easy to lose him again, be it to death or just distance.

"Listen..." Sam took a breath, "I...there are no words...hell, there's nothing in the world that could possibly prove how thankful I am. How thankful we both are. I mean, if it hadn't been for you I don't know how far I would have come. I..."

"Sam", Hel held a hand up, "It's okay. Really. I'm sure a lot of people would have helped you. I just happened to be there when you needed someone to ground and guide you. It was my pleasure."

The emotions bubbling up, Sam nodded jerkily, his lips a thin line. What Hel said wasn't true. The Roadhouse could have been bursting at the seams the night Seth had arrived there, he was sure he would have gone alone if Hel hadn't been there.

"And I must say, it was worth it. Dean's a nice guy. I would have been disappointed if it had turned out that he's an ass. Maybe I would have stated accounts." Hel laughed, but in his dark eyes Sam saw the glistening of tears.

"You sure you met him?" Sam asked soberly before his face broke into a smile and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Anyway...thank you. Whenever you need help...you know how to find us, okay?"

The older hunter gripped Sam's shoulder, "I'll find you. And that's a threat. Seriously."

"We like threats, nothing new for us."

Hel let go of Sam's shoulder and looked around again, the same understanding expression appearing on his face that had helped and calmed Sam so often. Following the older man's gaze he saw Patrick and Dean stepping from the Roadhouse, his brother carrying a heavy looking bag in his good hand while the kid struggled with two equally heavy looking ones and a backpack.

The two men stopped just below the stairs and faced each other, and Sam nearly flinched at the painful expression he caught on Dean's face. His older brother's mask was in place, and Sam was sure neither Patrick nor anyone else would notice the raw emotion that flashed over Dean's features but for Sam his brother's emotions were patently obvious.

A bond had arisen between those two. Similar to the one that held him and Dean together. A big-and-kid-brother kind of bond. Maybe because of the worries, fears and pain the two had shared in those woods. Maybe because Patrick had lost his significant other, a special, precious person, a situation Dean was unfortunately used to. Maybe because the kid still was exactly that – a kid. And Dean was a protector all his life, his charge running away, leaving behind a gap that was impossible or rather hard to fill.

It was that tiny glimpse of Dean's true feelings, that little, narrow crack in his sturdy wall that shook Sam awake. That told him why Dean avoided him. Why he escaped his little brother's proximity, his closeness. Why he tried to protect himself this time, from letting Sam too close again after he had been forced to let him go.

And it nearly tore Sam apart.

* * *

"You got everything?" Dean asked, surprised at the lump building up in his throat. He readjusted his grip on the bag before he decided to put it on the ground, the pull of the heavy thing tearing at his healing shoulder.

"Yeah, got it." Patrick seemed to have come to the same conclusion, dropping the bags and sliding the backpack from his arms. He eyed his baggage and snorted. "This is weird."

"What's weird?"

"This...atmosphere. It was the same with Jason...every time when he left for a hunt and he told me to take care of myself, to call if the cereals were empty...it was like this, you know. This mood reminding you of the possibility that the person in front of you might not return."

Dean watched while the young man poked at a piece of wood with the tip of his toe. He couldn't remember this kind of fear when it had come to his Dad, because to him it had been out of the question that his father would come back. Period. Only with Sam had he felt that anxiety, every time they had split up on a hunt. The day he had left for Stanford. The day he had left the second time.

Pushing the thoughts back Dean put some nonchalance to his tone. "You'll be fine with Hel. He's a good hunter, he'll take care of the two of you..."

"I wasn't talking about me. I was talking about you."

The honesty left the Winchester speechless and he blinked owlishly at Patrick.

"So, I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Jason every time he left", Patrick continued, "Promise me to be careful, promise me to return in one piece."

Dean just nodded, his mouth desert dry. He didn't know how to respond. How it was so important for that kid he barely knew that he was okay, would be okay.

Before Dean could get his bearings again he found himself in a bear hug, momentarily startled and surprised over the sign of affection, but then returning Patrick's embrace.

Only when the younger hunter squeezed him tightly for good measure, causing his ribs to cry out in protest, Dean pulled away slightly. "Woah, easy there", he exclaimed, his voice muffled due to half of his face being buried in Patrick's shoulder before the kid let go of him.

"Uh…sorry, didn't mean to hurt you", Patrick breathed, the shock on his face almost comical, "You okay? I'm sorry. Man, I'm sorry!"

"No problem, just…gimme…a sec." Cradling his ribs with his cast, Dean bent over, bracing himself on his knees with his good right and breathed the pain out, relieved when the dizziness subsided quickly. He wasn't surprised when Sam's concerned voice erupted right beside him.

"Dean?"

"I'm good, Sam...everything's…peachy…" Straightening himself gingerly Dean was met with three sets of concerned eyes staring at him. "Really. M'fine", he stated, dropping the cast from his throbbing ribs.

Hel broke into a laugh and slapped Patrick's shoulder blade, causing the young man to stumble forward a bit, "Come on, let's hit the road before you hurt somebody." He grabbed the bag at Dean's feet and the backpack and walked over to the Cherokee, followed by Patrick, who still looked like a deer in the headlights, Sam, who eyed his brother with a mixture of worry and uncertainty and Dean, who couldn't help but chuckle at the whole scene.

Once again, first Dean then Sam offered a thank you Hel didn't want to hear. Once again, a hug was exchanged, this time between Hel and Sam. Once again, Dean was able to make a spooked Patrick laugh once more with a cheeky remark and his trademark smirk.

"Don't be strangers!" Hel said after he got behind the wheel of his truck, "if you two need help, give us a call. We'll do the same." He pulled his door closed and waited for Patrick to get in before he fired the engine up and put the Cherokee in first gear, letting the heavy car roll from the Roadhouse parking lot. Both men waved goodbye one last time before Hel floored it and the Winchesters watched them disappear behind a piece of woodlands.

With the rumble of Hel's truck fading there fell a deep silence between the brothers, the only remaining sound being the chirping birds and the soft wailing of the wind.

Dropping his gaze to the ground, a small stone to his feet suddenly attracted Dean's interest and he pushed it around before kicking it away. He tried to remember when it had gotten so awkward to be alone with Sam.

"Think they will get along?" Sam's voice cutting through the quiet startled Dean and he just barely kept himself from jerking his head up.

"Guess so, yeah", he replied and turned on his heel, trudging back toward the building. He felt his brother's eyes on him, but didn't bother to stop or turn around. Reaching the stairs, Dean sat down on the topmost step, resuming the same position he had had in the morning and started to pull at a tiny thread that hung from the edge of his cast.

The crunching of the gravel signaled Sam's approach and soon a tall shadow fell on the older Winchester, the sudden absence of sunlight making Dean shiver.

"Mind if we talk?" Sam's tone held a tight quality to it and he dropped beside Dean, scrutinizing his older brother.

"Sure. Shoot."

"What's going on in that head of yours lately?"

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam and on his face appeared one of the dirtiest grins he could muster, "I don't think you wanna know, Sammy…"

"Drop it, okay? I'm serious." Sam's tone changed from patient to pissed in the blink of an eye and Dean watched his brother jump to his feet and begin to pace. "What's gotten into you lately?"

Dean's grin vanished, seemed to drop from his face even faster then Sam's tone had changed and he looked at the other man with a stony expression.

"Okay, let's hear it", Dean stated in a dangerously low growl that made Sam interrupt his pacing.

"What?"

"The 'Happy now?' speech. The moment where you tease me about being reckless and that I'm only causing trouble because of that habit, the moment were you tell me that I'm absolutely useless without you, that I can't even handle a doter with a bird complex on my own, come on, I'm all ears."

Sam still stood, mouth agape, blinking. Dean felt a blanket of satisfaction wrapping around him, at the same time the urge to go on, to rant further, to let it all out was so incredibly strong he was sure he would burst if he would hold back.

"That's not what I meant", Sam spoke up, "Yes, you're reckless and I lost count of how many times it got us into trouble but no one says anything about you being useless without me or that you're not able to handle anything."

"So what do you want to hear, Sam? What's this interrogation all about?"

"The way you're acting lately. Since you're out of the hospital you're all but ignoring me, you're keeping your distance and I can't comprehend why."

Letting out a mirthless laugh Dean rubbed his eyes. So Sam had noticed. Of course he had, the kid had such keen antennas it was almost unnatural for a guy.

"You're afraid of letting me close again, aren't you."

"Sam…"

"No. No, I get it. I deserve it. I pushed you away and now I'm here whining over your behavior. I turned my back on you, again, and it almost got you killed."

"This has nothing to do with me getting killed…"

"Then talk to me, Dean. Let's solve this problem before it tears us apart."

Dean closed his eyes, Sam's intimidating stare and the way he was currently towering over him constricting him in a way that made him want to lash out. And not only verbally.

"When I saw you out there…" he began, already hating the way his voice trembled ever so slightly, "I was trapped in that cabin and I heard your voice, I looked out of the window and saw you walk by and I thought…I was so happy to see you I…" Dean swallowed, it almost hurt in his throat. "And in the hospital, having you there, every day…at some point I realized that those days were over, that you were there because of my condition, and that the day I would get released, you would leave."

He looked up, a part of him wanting to avert his eyes, to keep them glued to the ground, while the other part searched in Sam's face for understanding, for acceptance. The next sentence didn't come easy from Dean's lips, his pride and his aversion against laying his soul bare tearing and pulling at his insides.

"I didn't want you to get too close again because I knew I couldn't handle to let you go a third time."

Dean's voice cracked on the last word and a wave of emotions washed over him, the sight of Sam's expression amplifying the sorrow, the anger, the unfairness tenfold. He felt the frustration boil up in his guts and let his steely greens bore into Sam's glassy ones.

"Tell me why I should receive you with open arms? Huh? Give me one fucking reason why I should not get up right now, get my things and drive off? Leave you standing here so you can get on your damn bus to Stanford tonight, no longer bother with your sibling's needy self."

He stared at his little brother, nearly shattering into millions of pieces as he watched a single tear rolling down Sam's cheek. He waited for an answer, waited for anything Sam had to say. And then he would do exactly what he had just suggested. Grab his stuff and bail.

"Because I won't."

Dumbfounded, Dean felt the icy grip holding his heart hostage melt away. He frowned at his little brother. "What?"

"I won't. I won't go back, Dean."

All of a sudden Dean forgot how to breathe. How to think straight. He felt his jaw drop and if he were a character in a comic he was sure it would slam right to the ground. He still stared at his sibling, Sam's face being a mixture of the Cheshire Cat and a professional mourner, tears glistening on his cheeks and in his eyes while his lips were pulled up in a smile.

"What do you mean, you won't..."

"We'll get OUR stuff and we'll head out TOGETHER. Find US a new hunt." Sam stressed the words as if talking to an idiot. The way he looked at Dean, expectantly, waiting for him to say something, was nearly heartbreaking.

His smile faded when Dean slowly shook his head. "We talked about this. God damn, we fought about it, hours, days. And now you change your mind all of a sudden? Just like this? What happened to 'I want a life, Dean'?"

He couldn't believe his own words. He heard himself saying them, wounded pride helping to form them, rage pushing them from his lips while love and the longing for a home he had in Sam tried to pull them back, tried to make them unspoken. The look on his kid brother's face making him want to leap to his feet and grab him, pull him close and cling to him.

Sam's shoulders sagged, the smile wiped away from his features, making way for an expression of shock and defeat.

"I know how this sounds, Dean", he said, quietly, calm, voice quivering, "And I know I'm not fair to you, the way I treat you...I just...I guess I don't know how to handle this, I'm not ready to drop the idea of a normal life yet..." He paused at Dean's huffed "Surprise" before he went on, "Maybe I need more time. But when I was confronted with the possibility of you being dead...the second time in months...when we weren't able to find you, when I dragged you from that burning house, the paramedics were trying to revive you, your comatose state in the hospital...what I want to say is...after this hunt with you almost dying – again – I realized that there's one thing worse than our current life. And that's leaving my only remaining family and live every day with the possibility of this only family getting killed."

A long silence ensued. Dean hadn't looked up at Sam during his speech but he felt his brother's eyes drill holes into his scull. All this he had just learned, had listened to, sounded too good to be true. The fears Dean had silently processed over the last weeks, the plans he had tried to make but had failed to think through to the end due to his inability and indignation to think of a future as a hunter that doesn't include Sam...everything turned into a black void, spiraling away from him. Problem was, if he wouldn't be able to hold on to something, it would take him with it.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice pulled him from his dark thoughts, like it always did. Always had done. Looking up Dean's blurry eyes met Sam's.

"I can't promise you that I will always be happy. I'm sure there will be times and situations we're going to fight over this again, times where I want to leave and you'd be happy to personally kick my ass to Palo Alto yourself."

The twitch of Dean's mouth encouraged Sam to go on.

"But I'm willing to try. I'm going to find my place, Dean. Give me another chance."

Dean didn't know what it was he was clinging to. What kept him from drowning in the black void that threatened to swallow him whole. If it was Sam's confidence. His hope. His pleading eyes that begged him to listen to him. He couldn't put his finger on it. And it didn't matter. Everything that mattered was the fact that he stayed while his anger and fear were washed away.

"Dean? Waiting for a reaction here."

Schooling his features, Dean cleared his throat and glared at Sam, who pulled back a bit, seeming to prepare himself for another round.

"Dude. When our next hunt involves anything near poultry or Indians, I swear the day I kick your ass to Palo Alto is closer then you've thought."

It took Sam a few seconds to let the words sink in and the older Winchester saw his brother's cogs fall into place. Sam's face lit up like a christmas tree, and Dean could see he was fighting with tears again, this time tears of relief.

"Okay", he choked out, "Cross my heart."

"Good."

The brothers chuckled and lapsed into silence again, watching the cars pass the Roadhouse side by side, Sam having dropped beside Dean on the topmost step. It might take some time for them to get in sync again. The things that had happened having torn furrows in their relationship of different depths and shapes. But they had handled other problems and situations in the past. And this was just another banana skin on the already bumpy road that was the Winchester's life.

"Think we can grab lunch from Ellen before we head out?" Dean spoke up, his stomach still filled from breakfast but the idea of lunch making itself known in his mind.

"Don't know. Would that be polite? Scrounging again?" Sam glanced at his brother with a questioning look.

"Any other ideas then?"

"Kentucky Fried Chicken?"

The look on Dean's face was priceless. "Hell no."

**

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**

**The End**

* * *

**_Author's notes:_**

_Wow._

_This is it._

_My first story ever is finally completed. I'm kinda speechless, I guess._

_I started this story about three years ago. In between the pages and chapters you've read I had my ups and downs of life everbody has, I took a break from my job, I gave birth to a child, I travelled, I got back to my job...and all the time this story was accompanying me – for three whole years. _

_So, writing "The End" under those pages filled with my ramblings, completely with mistakes and typos and grammatical torturing for all the english native speakers out there, I get a bit melancholic._

_I want to thank all of you who borrowed me their time and read this story, shared the thrill with me, wrote me their feelings and opinions. If it hadn't been for you, this would be my first and last story. And I'm not sure if it would have been completed, if it weren't for you. Because if you know someone's out there waiting for your brain farts, it boosts you. So, once again, THANKS! YOU GUYS ROCK!_

_And here's the literary hug for my lovely Beta: Honeypie! We did it! And if you're still with me, we're in for some hundred stories more! Sister in mind, you're the best!_

_Okay. And now, before these notes are getting longer then the story itself, I'm going to shut up and open my OpenOffice to work on the next story. _

_What? Curious?_


End file.
